Where the Heart Is
by Charis77
Summary: Merlin brings Arthur to his home after his return. A tour reveals surprising details about the immortal warlock, and long buried truths rise to the surface. Touching bromance, no slash.
1. Home

**Author's Note:** This story stands on its own, but it does follow the epilogue in my story "Second Chance." So if you're curious about what happened before this, feel free to check it out.

* * *

" _This_ is where you live?" Arthur asked, head pitched back, staring up at the three leveled stone manor house. Its exterior mirrored Camelot in some ways, especially the suggestion of rounded turrets built into its sides.

Merlin stroked his white beard. "I've had fifteen hundred years, give or take a little, to save up."

Arthur shook his head, eyes a bit dazed. Merlin assessed his armored king. So far he'd handled things pretty well, but then he'd always been good at confronting the unexpected, falling easily into "deal with it" mode. And Merlin had prepared him somewhat for his transition to the modern world before leaving the lake, at least, explained things would be quite different than he was used to. Still, Merlin was glad he'd chosen to live close to the lake, and far away from anything that might have made Arthur's return harder.

After they'd met and talked at the lake, Merlin wanted to get Arthur back to his home as soon as possible. He needed the king safely squirreled away before destiny revealed itself. He'd planned for this day, dreamed of it, but found it more difficult than he expected. He could tell Arthur was trying to take it all in stride, but he appeared strained, and Merlin had begun to worry he hadn't done enough.

Merlin fished for the key in his pocket, unlocked the door, and stood aside. "Come on in."

Arthur stepped inside, keen blue eyes scrutinizing every detail. The foyer was quite large in itself, though cluttered. The whole house was really. Merlin had picked up so much during his travels, antiques and oddities. It had some organization, but only his brain cataloged it.

"Maid's out for the week," Merlin commented, dropping the bags he'd carried to the lake on the large oriental rug inside the doorway. He pulled off his cap and coat and dumped them on top, and smoothed down the long sleeves of his blue sweater, appreciating the warmth.

"You have a maid, too?" Arthur questioned, turning in continued shock.

"You don't think I clean it all myself, do you?"

Arthur stared, then shook his head.

Merlin gestured towards the rest of the house. "Want me to give you the tour?"

Arthur nodded dumbly.

Merlin rubbed his hands together nervously. "First two rooms are greeting areas. Not much there. Sometimes, though, I have visitors."

"What kind?" Arthur asked curiously.

Merlin ducked his head. "Parliamentary officials. Erm...Like nobles kind of."

"You entertain nobles?"

"I may have written some books. Gotten a bit of a following."

Arthur let a smile flood his face. "I think you chose the wrong subject at the lake. Should have told me more about _your_ life."

"This is it really," Merlin said, spreading his hands wide to encompass the mansion.

"What is all the stuff in there?" Arthur waved at the two greeting rooms.

"Trinkets I picked up traveling. We'll talk about it later." They held memories for him, but wouldn't have any significance for Arthur yet. Merlin hurried on. "Kitchen's just that way," he pointed to the left. "You're welcome to get anything you want whenever."

Arthur stopped, peering up at a grand wooden staircase that led to the second floor.

Merlin turned to the right. "Greenhouse back here." Seeing Arthur's confusion, he amended, "A garden, but inside."

Arthur peeked inside the glass enclosed room. "It's...impressive."

"Lots to experiment with," Merlin explained.

"You followed in Gaius' footsteps then."

"A little."

Merlin moved on. "Then this." He strode to the far left, passing an unopened middle door. He pulled at a door farther down. "Menagerie."

Arthur tilted his head. "Animals?"

"And other things," Merlin added cryptically.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, stepping in for a moment and then pointing with wide eyes. "What is that?"

Merlin coughed as he cast his gaze upon a creature curled up under a broad green leaf in a glass terrarium. "Fairy."

"It looks like a tiny _woman_."

"She was wounded near the lake. I brought her here. She's healing well, I think."

"Fairies are real," Arthur stated slowly.

"Lots of things are real."

Arthur turned his head to him. "But fairies?"

"Griffins? Goblins? The Questing Beast?"

Arthur let out a short laugh. "Point taken."

Merlin shut the door quietly and sauntered back to the middle one. "We'll spend most of our time here probably."

Arthur walked inside and stifled a gasp. Every wall boasted a bookshelf from floor to ceiling, completely filled, and multiple tables were hardly visible, covered in books new and old. "It's bigger than the library in Camelot!"

Merlin grinned at Arthur's amazement. He paced the walls and Arthur followed. Merlin ran his hand over the spines in some of the cases. "I've collected things you'll need to learn. History, Science, Philosophy." He paused, pulling one out and handing it to Arthur. "Though we should probably start with language first."

Arthur weighed the book in his hand. "Of course. It would have changed over so much time."

When he didn't look up, Merlin leaned down to catch his eye. "Arthur?"

Arthur raised his head and shoved the book into Merlin's hands. "They keep the word clotpole?"

Merlin smiled. "It's hung on."

"Knowing you, you've probably added more colorful insults to your repertoire."

"A few," Merlin admitted.

"And can't wait to spout them."

Merlin only laughed. Arthur moved on, fingering books here and there, then moving swiftly to the west wall. A large fireplace burned merrily. A twin bed and an overstuffed easy chair were positioned in front of it as well as a side table with a clock and a plate dirtied from a leftover meal.

"You sleep here," Arthur realized. He picked up an open book from the bed. "And you..." He read a few words, then set it back down guiltily. "Record your private thoughts."

"You can read it. Any book here is for you. Everything I've written, I did it with you in mind."

Arthur let his eyes wander the library. "How much here is _your_ work?"

"Half. Maybe more."

Arthur's eyes pierced his former manservant. Merlin felt suddenly afraid he'd overwhelmed his king. He stepped up, taking Arthur's arm to pull him back towards the door.

"Wait." Arthur slowed and indicated the wall just inside the room. He pushed the door back to get an unobstructed view. "Who are all these people? They're so _real_."

"Some are painted portraits and those photographs," Merlin explained as he ran his eyes over the framed photos. "People's images can be...recorded. Copied."

Arthur bobbed his head in amazement, then leaned in closer to one frame. "That's... _you_." Arthur pointed to a picture with two people, then to another. "And this...and here...here. Merlin?"

Merlin spoke sheepishly. "They're my wives...and children. Some grandchildren."

Arthur laughed aloud. "You found this many women willing to love you?"

Merlin chuckled, enjoying the jab.

Arthur laid a finger on one of the photographs. "Who was the first?

"She's not there." Merlin reached to his neck and tugged on the chain under his shirt. "Here." Arthur turned as Merlin undid the clasp on a circular locket. The king leaned over to view a miniature portrait of a woman sporting dark eyes and dark hair with the wisp of a smile on her face.

"Iona," Merlin whispered. He shifted his gaze from the locket to meet Arthur's eyes. He couldn't quite read the king's expression.

"Would she be jealous?" Arthur asked quietly. "Of the others?" He turned back to the wall.

"She would have been delighted how many women I found to love me."

"Did you...tell them?" Arthur's voice was barely a whisper.

Merlin understood he meant his magic. "Most."

"And they believed you?"

Merlin's eyes twinkled as Arthur looked back at him. "Most."

"Which is the most recent?

Merlin paced to the far right of the display. He pointed to a simple wooden frame where he looked as he did now, an old man with an old woman at his side, appearing grandmotherly and kind. "Judith. We met after the last world war. She'd lost her sons. We shared grief and then love."

"World war?"

"History. I'll tell you about it another time."

Arthur blinked uncertainly. Merlin regretted he'd started on the first level. Should have taken him upstairs immediately. "Arthur?" He gripped his elbow.

"I'm fine."

"Let's go upstairs," Merlin encouraged. He aided Arthur to the door, then let him go as they made their way to the grand stairs, climbing to the second level. There was only one door at the landing. "I prepared this for you," Merlin said as he pulled open the door to one long hallway with three doorways echoing the ones below.

* * *

Arthur stared warily as Merlin entered the middle doorway without preamble. He'd hardly wrapped his mind around most of what Merlin had told him at the lake and the rooms downstairs had set his heart pounding. Heat pressed in on his forehead and cheeks, and he sucked in a deep breath to recover himself, forced his feet to keep moving in this topsy-turvy world he'd returned to.

He banished the fear from his expression as he trailed Merlin, then let out a guffaw when relief washed through him. "The armory!" he exclaimed. He knew it. Every fixture, every stone. He circled it, touching familiar objects and drinking in the smell of burnished metal and freshly hewn wood. "How did you do it?"

"Some of the weapons are original. I've found others. Made some."

" _Made_ some?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"Right. Magic."

"I'm going to transform again."

Arthur heard the plea for permission in his tone. "I hardly think you need to ask me to do anything anymore."

"I didn't want to startle you."

"Go ahead," Arthur said, though his breath caught in his throat as Merlin uttered the same spell he had at the lake and his older form melted away to reveal the younger man he had known. Even the second time around it was breathtaking to watch.

Merlin bowed his head. "My lord."

"No titles," Arthur ordered.

Merlin smiled mischievously as he moved behind him and began to unbuckle his armor.

"Merlin, stop. You don't have to act like this anymore."

"You don't know how much I've _longed_ to do this. You'd need help anyway. If not from a servant, then a friend."

Arthur felt awkward at first, but as Merlin fell into familiar routine, he calmed. This was right and good. They didn't meet eyes as Merlin removed his armor, carefully setting each piece on the table next to them. He did watch when Merlin paused to fondly stroke his sword, the one he'd pulled from the stone. When he was down to his padded arming coat, Merlin passed him a long sleeved red shirt with ties and a new pair of trousers. Arthur changed while Merlin considered the clothing on the table.

"I'll wash these and polish the armor."

Arthur finished tying up the shirt. "You won't."

Merlin smiled at him. "You think _I_ have magic? You should see a washing machine."

Arthur turned his head. "Another change?"

"A laundry basin that washes for you."

"Are you sure the world isn't populated with sorcerers now?"

Merlin chuckled. "No, we're fairly rare."

"And armor polishing?" Arthur asked, gesturing to the pieces on the table.

Merlin's eyes gleamed gold and a cloth zoomed across the room, the armor floating into the air, submitting itself for cleaning.

Arthur gawked. "Did you ever..."

"Yep," Merlin answered. "When you needed it quicker than I could manage by hand."

Arthur looked to his former servant. "If I'd only known."

Merlin turned quickly away. "Come on."

Arthur followed him back into the hall and to the doorway on the right.

"You probably won't spend much time here. This was a little self-indulgent on my part."

Arthur peeked in. "Gaius' chambers!"

"As good a place as any for experiments."

Arthur's eyes roamed the room as good a rendition as the armory.

"This way."

Arthur turned to see Merlin moving to the last door at the other end of the hall. Merlin paused, fixing his eye on him. "Welcome home, Arthur." Arthur worked not to gape. The armory had been enough, Gaius' chambers a surprise, but his _own_? He shuffled inside, taking in every recreated detail.

"How long it must have taken you!"

Merlin shrugged. "Magic makes it much easier, and I had the time."

"It's perfect, Merlin. Every bit of it."

Merlin beamed at the praise. Arthur copied his broad smile. He hadn't said that enough in the past, had he? Or ever. He'd managed to say "thank you" at the very end. Not that he hadn't said it before, but he hadn't meant it to cover Merlin's sacrifices for him and the kingdom. Arthur's chest tightened. He moved quickly on, the memory heavy on his already boggled mind. He might have managed to cage his emotion if he hadn't caught sight of a long rectangular fabric tacked to the wall that shouldn't have been there if the room were an exact replica.

Arthur stopped. "Guinevere," he whispered. "Are these..." He couldn't finish the question.

Merlin's voice spoke near his shoulder, low and gentle. " _Your_ wife and child and grandchildren."

Arthur stared at the portrait depicted on the fabric. Gwen seated in the middle, older, stately, and still beautiful. Their son to her right, tall, broad-shouldered, curly haired, regal. His son's wife he presumed on Gwen's left, braided copper hair, lithe, yet muscular. And then the grandchildren standing to each side of the seated trio.

Arthur raised a finger and ran it over Gwen's hair, then focused his eyes on his son's, blue meeting brown. Merlin had told him their story at the lake, how Gwen had been with child at Camlann, and they hadn't known it. How his son had been born with Merlin's aid. How the kingdom hadn't been entirely safe, and it had taken his son and sorcerers and Gwen and so many others to secure it.

Arthur let his eyes run left and right down the long portrait. They'd suffered so many trials without him...and celebrated so many joys without him. A lump caught in his throat, his eyes misted, and he couldn't breathe. His knees went weak and he faltered.

"Arthur!" Merlin called out. He drew him to the bed and Arthur sat, pressing one palm to the mattress, the other to his chest.

He tried to speak, dismiss the weakness, but his entire body grew incredibly hot and he was suddenly sobbing. Merlin held his forearms, and Arthur let his forehead fall to the man's shoulder as he wept. Merlin said nothing, and for that Arthur would be eternally grateful.

The pain in Arthur's chest lightened the longer he cried, no, _grieved_ , grieved for all he had lost. _Fifteen hundred_ _years!_ He raised his limp arms as he caught his breath, grasping Merlin's shoulders and lifted his head to meet reflected blue eyes. "You lived alone. All these years."

Arthur noted Merlin's own cheeks were wet. "Not much of the time," his friend assured. "I've lived a good life. Several good lives."

"I'm sorry," Arthur choked out. "So sorry. I should have done things differently. You should have been able to tell me."

Merlin cradled Arthur's head in his hands. "Don't apologize." Fresh tears appeared in his eyes. "Don't, Arthur."

"Merlin." Arthur could hardly get the name out.

Merlin put his forehead to Arthur's and closed his eyes. "I'm here. Forever. I'll never leave your side and I'm never going to die."

* * *

Merlin lounged in a chair, watching his king on his side in the bed, eyes closed, chest rising and falling lightly. Arthur had been sleeping for close to two hours. He had incanted a silent spell, bringing needed rest. All these years imagining his king's return, and Arthur breaking down hadn't occurred to him. Surprise, shock, yes. The world had changed too much not to experience some of that, but the weeping. He should have prepared him better before showing him everything.

Merlin glanced down at his own wrinkled hands. The spell to make himself younger wasn't hard, and he'd made good use of it over the years, but it did wear after a time. He toyed with his beard. Truth was, he liked being old. You could get away with more and people were far less suspicious.

"What are you grinning at?"

Merlin turned his attention back to Arthur who was staring at him. He whispered the spell, letting his younger form appear once more.

"I think I'm getting used to that," Arthur muttered.

"There's food there for you." Merlin pointed to the table.

Arthur glanced at the plate, then rolled onto his back.

"How are you?"

"I'll be all right."

"Arthur⸺"

"Merlin." He gazed at the canopy of the bed. "I meant what I said. You should have been able to trust me. I failed you. I'm sorry."

Merlin laughed sadly. "You failed? Arthur, you died. In my arms. Because I didn't stop the prophecy about Mordred."

Silence dominated for a moment, then Arthur turned back on his side to lock his eyes on the warlock's. "We share the blame, then."

Merlin nodded. "And the past is the past. Regretting it doesn't change it." Goodness knows he had learned that lesson more than once after living so long.

Arthur regarded the man who had walked next to him selflessly, all the way to the end. The man who had defended him and killed Morgana, who had implored him to stay when he lay dying, whose strong arms holding tight were his last memory. He swallowed as unshed tears graced his eyes.

"The truth is...if anyone had to remain...I'm glad it's you. I loved Gwen, still do. The knights were brothers, but Merlin, there never was anyone like you. I never told you..." He coughed and wiped a hand over his eyes.

"You don't have to."

"Shut up and listen, clotpole."

Merlin smiled softly.

"I...cared for you." Arthur spoke to the bedsheets. "Not like a girl. Like a brother. But more than that..." Arthur let out a frustrated growl and flopped onto his back.

Merlin stood and closed the distance between them, perching on the edge of the bed and beholding the man who was his friend, in the past, in the present, and into eternity. "We're linked by soul."

Arthur looked up at the smiling face and saw wisdom. "That's it."

"Like two sides of a coin. Inescapably minted together."

"Did you get that from a book?" Arthur asked, a hint of humor in his tone.

Merlin's grin reached his eyes. "Sure."

Arthur smiled back. His gaze returned to the canopy. Merlin lay back next to him, doing likewise. Neither thought much. Thoughts weren't needed. Presence was enough. Until Merlin finally spoke again.

"Iona was my first wife, but not the first woman I loved."

"What?" Arthur turned his head to him.

"The woman who talked to you at the lake before you found me?"

"Yes?"

"She had dark hair running over her shoulders, chestnut eyes, a soft voice that resolved every fear. Her name's Freya."

" _She_ was your first love? How? When?"

Merlin turned on his side, propping his head in his hand. "Well, it all started when Gaius and I saw this girl in a bounty hunter's cage..."


	2. Readjusted

**Author's Note:** So I obviously decided to continue this. I have too many ideas for it in my head. It's going to be a series of vignettes about Arthur and Merlin adjusting to his return. I have several chapters outlined, but I am open to suggestions! Feel free to PM me any ideas you might have!

* * *

Arthur cut frantically through tangled brush, looking forwards, backwards, side to side, any way out. Footfalls crashed behind him, his most trusted knights trying as desperately as he. He trailed a brown jacket and a raven head, frustration bubbling up inside him that he'd put his faith in his manservant to get him to his beloved wife. He trusted Merlin, just didn't trust him to do _this_.

"Are you sure this is the right way, Merlin?"

His servant didn't respond for a few seconds. Arthur gasped. Light bloomed from Merlin, shooting through the trees. It disappeared when Merlin instructed, "Come on."

Arthur stared in disbelief for a moment, then continued on, his manservant his only hope. Merlin slowed, pointing, and Arthur glanced down at Percival's broken blade from earlier. Percival picked it up, muttering, "Merlin, you're a genius."

Merlin took off again, and Arthur followed without question. They reached a rise, the Dark Tower visible in the distance. He clapped Merlin on the shoulder and asked, "Which way now?" Merlin dashed to his left.

More running, then Merlin stopped again and Arthur stared, ready this time, but still awed at the light zinging out from his friend, twisting and turning. Merlin ran, Arthur hot on his heels. The sun shone on a desolate plain...

* * *

Arthur sucked in sharply as the memories faded.

"You still with me?"

Arthur opened his eyes to Merlin's blue staring intently. "As always," he whispered, though his voice evidenced the mental exhaustion.

Merlin pulled back. "Sometimes I think I shouldn't do that."

"I asked you to."

"I suggested it."

Arthur sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Let's stop fighting for the fault, shall we?"

Merlin grinned. He gestured to his face. "Do you mind?"

Arthur chuckled. "Will you _stop_ asking me if you can do things?"

"Habit," Merlin returned, his younger form fading as the older emerged.

"How can it be habit when you haven't served me in fifteen hundred years?"

Merlin moved over to Arthur's dressing screen, retrieving the discarded clothing behind it. "I may not have served _you_ for fifteen hundred years, but I served others."

"You had all this time to become something and decided to spend it all in service."

Merlin shrugged, looking back at him. "I've come to think of that as a noble thing."

Arthur let his eyes drift to a window. "I suppose it is."

"Even kings serve their people if they're good."

Silence reigned momentarily, comfortable, but both knew it needed to be broken. Arthur spoke first, eyes still on the window. "Do you know what the hardest part is?"

No question from Merlin, simply patience as he waited for an answer.

"It feels like they're really there, that I could put out my hand and touch them."

Merlin's response was low. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Arthur insisted. "It's good even if..."

"It hurts," Merlin finished.

Arthur nodded. A week had passed since he'd returned. At first he had thought to roam the outside world, but Merlin had persuaded him to take things little by little. He'd encouraged him to ask any question about their past, which fast turned into explorations focused on Merlin himself. Although Arthur recalled their conversations during his last moments, he hadn't been entirely lucid; there was so much he could have asked and hadn't.

Merlin had handed him a book written by a scribe who had taken it upon himself to record Merlin's life. It was enlightening and led to a million more questions that Merlin dutifully answered. One afternoon, Arthur had exclaimed how much he hated missing the truth of the events, and Merlin had let slip the possibility of memory readjustment by combining his recollections with Arthur's. The warlock had regretted it almost as soon as he'd said it, but the idea intrigued Arthur and he pestered Merlin until he agreed to try.

They'd started with easy memories such as the one he'd just experienced—escaping the Impenetrable Forest. He'd chided Merlin then for the insistence he could find the way out, but now he'd filled in the gap, observing a visible manifestation in his mind of Merlin's ability to "see the path ahead."

Arthur turned back to his friend who hadn't moved. "You remember everything in so much detail?"

"Somewhere in here." Merlin tapped his head. "But without the magic I recall it like anyone else, only bits and pieces."

Arthur sat forward, elbows on his knees, chin in one hand. "You did so much for me...for Camelot."

Merlin made to exit. "You already thanked me for that."

"Not for this specifically," Arthur called after him. "You returned Gwen to me. She may have been controlled by Morgana, but you helped with that, too. Found that sorceress with me."

Merlin guffawed, and it startled Arthur who stood. "Merlin!"

The warlock paused in the door, his back to his friend.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, sire."

"When you use my title, I know something is wrong."

Merlin stepped a foot outside the doorway.

"Don't you dare leave."

Merlin swiveled, guilty eyes fixing on his king. "What?"

"Something I just said. The sorceress."

"What of her?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Did something happen when she took you as surety?"

"Not exactly."

Arthur jabbed a finger at him. "You were involved! You knew her, didn't you? She was a friend or magic acquaintance or something."

The corners of Merlin's mouth twitched.

"That's it. Over here. Show me." Arthur sat back down.

"Arthur, you've already done this once and you know how tired it makes you."

"Now."

Merlin sighed. He paced back over to Arthur, dropping the clothes on the bed. "Fine, but after this you rest."

Arthur nodded once and Merlin took his own place in the chair across from Arthur's, their knees touching as he leaned in. Arthur met him, forehead to forehead. They closed their eyes, and Merlin began to incant the spell as he searched his mind for the right memory. The world shifted, and there they were, trudging down a rocky path.

They reached the shore of the pool, and Merlin was messing with the bags and a dress and saying the sorceress wanted to be paid in clothing, then stumbling away to search for her. Arthur lowered himself to Gwen's side, but another image intruded, Merlin hastily throwing on several pieces of dark clothing, _women's_ clothing. Arthur wanted to laugh aloud, but the sensation ceased when his friend ingested a potion and changed into an older women.

"Wait!" he cried out. "Stop!"

The vision abruptly ceased, and he swallowed hard against the haste of his returning consciousness. Merlin leaned back, and Arthur wrenched his gaze up into the older man's eyes. There _was_ a similarity.

"You have _got_ to be joking!" he choked out.

Merlin began to chuckle. Arthur was suddenly joining, both sharing a hearty laugh. Arthur slapped a hand on his knee.

" _You_ saved Gwen."

"You needed help. I was the only sorcerer available." Merlin's gleaming was evident even through his bearded wrinkles.

"A _woman_?"

Merlin raised his hands in protest. "It wasn't my idea! Gaius thought of it."

Arthur shook his head.

Merlin stood, taking hold of his arm. "To bed."

Arthur let himself be pulled up and directed to the bed. Merlin quietly retrieved the clothing and made for the doorway.

"Thank you again, Merlin," Arthur murmured.

The old man glanced back. "Always, Arthur."

Arthur closed his eyes, replaying the memory. Gwen. So close. So real. He let an arm fall over the empty place at his side. He didn't know what he would have done without Merlin to get him through this.

* * *

Arthur slept peacefully until nightmares awakened, jumbling words and images from the past―his father deathly pale in bed, a withered old man waving incense, himself desperately afraid he'd made the wrong choice. When he woke, grief weighed heavy. The father he'd loved and striven to please had died. Killed, so he thought, by a sorcerer...a sorcerer who had turned the battle at Camlann and shared this very house.

Arthur slowly sat up, running his hand through his hair in agitation. It had been Merlin all along, but how and why? His father had _died_. He scoured the memory, its whirl of emotion cutting him to the quick, the pain, betrayal, guilt, and wrath.

Arthur swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then marched for the doorway. He hesitated inside it, afraid, conflicted over the man whose every action had seemed crafted for his good. Why would Merlin kill his father? Or... _let_ him die? No, he couldn't, he wouldn't, but...

Arthur had read in the record of Merlin's life an incident―the poisoning of Morgana to stop the curse of sleep on Camelot. He had been troubled, but Merlin had explained and Arthur had sensed his deep pain from the event. Kind, compassionate Merlin forced to do something that destroyed his heart for the good of Camelot.

Had he done it again? Had taking Uther from the world been essential for some reason? Even if it were so, how could his friend bring such suffering into his life?

Arthur crept down the stairs, glad the maid Merlin had mentioned still wasn't back, so he could confront the man without fear of interruption. He listened at the base of the steps. The doorway to the menagerie was cracked open. He approached and pushed it open farther to peer inside.

He'd found this room the most fascinating in the house, full of cages, barred and glass, noisy with various creatures―snakes, birds, rodents. And then there were the magical creatures Arthur couldn't help but stare at, returning time and again to marvel―calygreyhounds, kelpies, phoenixes, and even more he hadn't asked Merlin to identify yet. He hadn't needed an explanation when Merlin had pointed out a box, tightly sealed and locked, warning it could never be opened or its inhabitant would cause much chaos. He'd clasped his hands to his ears, just to ensure they were still human.

Merlin stood at a worktable, humming softly, something Arthur had come to associate over the last week with his older self. He was dipping a slender tube into a bottle. He removed it and raised his other hand, cupped. "Just a drop or two. For me."

Something stirred in his hand, and Arthur perceived the fairy he had sighted when he first arrived. Merlin held the tube to her mouth, and she swallowed obediently. Merlin smiled softly at her when she leaned against his thumb. Merlin set the straw down, gently running a fingertip over her amber hair. "You're getting better every day. Soon I think you can return." He lowered her back into her glass enclosure, and she scooted out of his palm under her favorite leaf.

Arthur let out a breath, not realizing he'd been holding it. This man, sorcerer, servant―friend―he couldn't have meant to kill his father. Arthur rapped on the door. Merlin looked over.

"You're awake! Hungry?"

"A little."

"I'll get something."

Arthur held up a hand. "No. I want...to see something."

Merlin was mumbling, the old man transforming into the younger, and Arthur had to admit seeing him this way made it easier to ask. Merlin glanced around. "Which creature?"

"I mean a memory. Yours."

"We really shouldn't so soon after the last one."

Arthur stepped inside the menagerie, the noise hardly noticeable so focused was he on his friend. "I have to see it."

Merlin read his serious gaze. "All right. What?"

"My father's death."

Merlin stepped back, his voice hushed. "Arthur..."

"Please, Merlin."

Merlin closed his eyes briefly, and Arthur knew adding the 'please' shook his desire to refuse. "We said you'd start easy."

"I have to know."

"Arthur." Merlin's eyes opened. "I have to tell you..."

"No. I want to _see_."

Merlin held his gaze a moment, then sighed. Arthur knew he'd won. He perched on a seat at Merlin's worktable. Merlin hauled over a stool and sank down, shoulders drooping. He placed his hands on either side of Arthur's head. "Don't hate me," he begged.

"I won't."

A lump caught in Arthur's throat when he beheld his dying father. His attention was drawn to the other side of the bed and an old man, Merlin, lighting incense and chanting a spell. He turned anxiously to his father, watching, hoping. Uther opened his eyes. Arthur leaned down calling, "Father." He laughed in giddiness when Uther replied, "Arthur," smiling. He was saved.

But then darkness welled up, spreading out from the center of the king's chest, enveloping his body. Uther's eyes grew pained, froze, and a last breath escaped.

"What's happening?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know," Merlin answered, and this time Arthur felt the shock and fear of the old man.

Then everything was frantic, Arthur accusing, Merlin defending.

"Stop it! Stop!" Arthur cried. As before, the vision ended suddenly. He pushed back in his chair, surprised to find his cheeks wet. He raised a hand to wipe at them one by one. He locked eyes with Merlin whose tears reflected his own. "What happened?"

"I tried to save him." Merlin gulped, pausing to cover his eyes with his hands.

"It wasn't light like I've seen when you use magic in the other memories."

"Dark magic. Morgana. A cursed charm around his neck that I missed. It reversed my spell." He lowered his hands. "It was my fault. I didn't anticipate it, look for it..." His voice cut off and he bowed his head.

Arthur didn't speak. His memory wasn't perfect, couldn't play back images the way it did when connected with Merlin, but he remembered discovering a servant propped against a staircase, eyes reddened, waiting all night for him. He recalled what he had assumed was only sympathy, but actually included bitter remorse. And he heard his words. He spoke them now. "You're a loyal friend, Merlin."

Merlin raised his head, unshed tears glistening.

"You always have been." Arthur's eyes widened in realization because other words were seared into his memory. "I said magic was pure evil... Gods, what you must have thought!"

"You didn't mean to wound me."

Arthur leaned forward, grasping his friend's shoulders. "It wasn't your fault. Don't ever think it. Magic's not evil. It's pure in you, Merlin. I believe that. I know it."

Merlin reached his hands up to grip Arthur's wrists. "I just wanted you to see what good magic could do."

"I see it." He pulled Merlin into him, wrapping an arm around his neck, squeezing him. When he let go, Merlin dragged a sleeve over his eyes and beamed.

"So...it took fifteen hundred years to get another hug."

Arthur laughed loudly. He shoved the back of Merlin's head and met his grinning eyes. "You'll turn me into a girl yet."

Merlin smirked. "One can only hope."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I swear every chapter won't be Arthur and Merlin blubbering over the past :-) I just figure after 1500 years and considering how they left each other, there would be a lot of emotion and stuff to deal with. I promise the next chapter will be lighter.


	3. Alter Ego

Merlin closed his eyes, held his cupped hands to his nose, and breathed deeply. The precious scent, light but exhilarating, sent shivers through his limbs. So long ago now, and still he could hear her voice, feel the touch of her hand, sense the press of her trembling lips. Although he'd had numerous wives, memories did fade over time, but these—for some reason he couldn't ever shake them. Not that he'd want to.

Merlin lifted his eyelids, beaming at the crimson roses he'd just pruned. He'd spent the morning in his greenhouse, giving Arthur some space. He'd started to introduce modern languages, but every lesson had turned into grumbling and complaining. Merlin saw through it to Arthur's embarrassment at the slowness of his learning. He pitied any tutors Arthur must have had growing up. So he'd removed the pressure of his presence, setting Arthur up in the library and leaving him on his own.

Merlin picked up a few trimmed roses, then made his way to the kitchen. "Morning, Marg," he greeted his plump housekeeper. Her arms were buried in suds, so she couldn't escape. He gave her a peck on her wrinkled cheek.

Margaret threatened him with a soapy ladle, and he backed away. "Stop that! I've told you before, someone sees that and they'll think you're more than my master."

Merlin moved to the kitchen table, removing crinkled flowers from an antique sixth century vase and inserting the fresh roses. "And I told you to stop calling me 'master.' It's disturbing."

Margaret didn't turn from the sink. "And how long have I been in your service?"

"Long enough not to call me that anymore."

Margaret grunted and the dishes clattered a little harder when she laid them out to dry. She still insisted on washing them by hand. _They're priceless treasures_ , she'd lectured, _too prized to chance to a machine or 'you know what.'_ He'd only chuckled. That was Margaret. When he'd found her as a teenager, she'd been just as stubborn, but time had smoothed out some of her rough edges.

"How is he?" Margaret's voice lowered conspiratorially.

"As good as can be, I think," Merlin replied.

"I caught him wandering the halls. He looked like a scared rabbit."

Merlin's brow furrowed. Scared? Frustrated, maybe, but scared?

"Must be hard on him coming back," Margaret muttered. "But my, he is good looking."

Merlin laughed loudly at that. "You're a little old, don't you think?"

"You're one to talk. Teach me that de-aging spell."

"It'd be too difficult for you."

"You just want him all to yourself," Margaret teased, but he met her eyes as she peered at him over her shoulder. Her smiled disappeared. "I didn't mean that. It must be hard on you, too."

Merlin nodded, glad for the lack of barriers between himself and her, no need to hide. "It's selfish, but I do want him to myself. I waited so long and to have him here...I don't really want to give him back to the world or..."

"Destiny," Margaret finished, turning back to her washing.

Merlin sighed. "What will it want from him? It almost destroyed me."

"You're stronger. Better for it all. Purified."

Merlin let a small smile cross his lips. Her father had been a parson, a good one with a heart of gold. He could hear the man's words reflected in hers. "I hope so." He moved to the door as she spoke after him.

"I know so."

He made his way to the library and paused in its doorway to observe Arthur glaring in deep concentration over a book. This was too much for him. It would be for anyone, wouldn't it, coming back after fifteen hundred years? He wondered for a moment how Gwen or Gwaine or even Gaius would have handled it. He'd found himself glad for his immortality as he'd watched Arthur struggle. He'd faced periods of depression over the centuries, time wearing thin, but at least he was cemented in the world. Arthur must feel like a foreign visitor.

He transformed into a young man before ambling into the room. Arthur looked up at him and his scowl didn't vanish. He pointed at the book. "This."

Merlin leaned over, glancing down. Arthur's finger rested on a passage from one of the books his medieval biographer had written. "That's not language study," Merlin commented, noting the more modern books set aside on the table.

Arthur glowered at them. "I took a break."

Merlin skimmed the paragraph Arthur indicated. His heart thumped achingly. A coincidence that he'd been thinking of her just a few minutes ago? "Yes?" He looked at Arthur. The king's eyes were chastising already.

"It's her, isn't it? The one who talked to me at the lake. Your first love."

Merlin bit his lip.

"It is," Arthur intuited. "You just said she was wounded trying to escape and died."

Merlin let out a pent up breath. "I don't hold it against you and neither does she."

Arthur sat back in his seat, gaze troubled.

"If you don't want me feeling guilty over all the stuff I did, then you can't either."

"I killed her!"

Merlin wished Blaise had made that passage more vague than it was. He didn't have to write that the beast killed had been a woman transformed and the first in Emrys' heart. "And _she_ was killing other people. What choice did you have?"

"She couldn't help it, could she?" Arthur threw a hand at the book. "Says she was cursed."

"It doesn't make a difference," Merlin went on. "You had to stop her."

Arthur propped his elbows on the armrests of his chair, folding his hands together and resting his chin on them. Merlin empathized with the pain of doing awful things to save others. It wasn't a burden easily shaken.

"Get up," Merlin commanded.

Arthur looked up at him.

"Come on. Outside."

"Outside?"

"There's something else I haven't showed you." Merlin made sure Arthur trailed him and headed to the back of the mansion. Just inside the door was a rack of nicked practice swords. "Take one."

Arthur withdrew one as did Merlin. Merlin pulled the door open and stepped into fresh air. It wasn't too cold this morning, and the sun filtered through scattered clouds. He strode to a piece of land he'd cleared specially, lined with benches on three sides.

"A training yard?" Arthur marveled.

Merlin nodded as he paced inside the square area. He turned to face the king. "Come at me."

Arthur stared a moment, then laughed. "You're _asking_ me to duel with you?"

"You need it."

"You were always rubbish at it."

"You afraid fifteen hundred years has dulled your skill?"

Arthur guffawed. "It hasn't made you less an idiot apparently."

Merlin grinned.

"Chain mail?"

"You won't need it."

"You then?"

" _I_ won't need it."

Arthur cocked his head, but raised his sword. "You asked for it."

Arthur came at him, but Merlin was ready. He caught the first blow and parried to catch a second. Arthur tried various moves, and Merlin recognized each of them. Blood pulsed through his veins at the exertion and he felt giddy, absolutely elated to experience this again. Back then, he'd dreaded practice; now he cherished it.

"You've...gotten better," Arthur commented between breaths.

Merlin jumped back, quickly wiping sweat from his brow with the back of a hand. "I should have after all this time." And now he turned the match around, coming on fast, proud to show his king what he could do. Arthur wasn't ready for it, toddling to the side and stumbling back, and Merlin smirked. He couldn't help a smidgen of satisfaction at Arthur struggling under his own sword for once.

Arthur covered his surprise quickly and soon they were circling and slashing, neither seeming to gain an upper hand, until Merlin caught an opening and knocked Arthur to the ground. Arthur fell with a thud, but Merlin didn't press the sword to his neck or chest, just stepped back and lay it on the ground, hands braced on his knees to catch his breath. It was hard enough fighting an actually challenging opponent, but he had to maintain the de-aging spell on top of it.

"You won." Arthur gaped at him.

"I...did...get better. I couldn't always...use magic. And there was a lot of war."

"You weren't using magic?"

Merlin met his confused eyes. "If I was using magic, I'd just make the sword too hot for you to hold it or smash you with a tree branch or something."

Arthur sat up, hands clutching his knees. "You helped. During the battles. I'd turn around and see you cowering, but you weren't, were you?"

"Some of the cowering was real." Their gazes locked for a moment and then both let out a short laugh.

Arthur groaned. "Have you ever counted how many times you 'saved my royal backside'?"

Merlin shrugged.

Arthur stood and beckoned him with two fingers. "Again. And use magic."

"I can't. You won't win."

"I want to see you do it." Arthur crouched, brandishing his sword.

Merlin glanced around the yard. An abandoned crate came zinging towards Arthur, who slung his sword against it to misdirect it. Then Merlin was upon him, but Arthur met him. He sent other objects Arthur's way, but his king broke off the attack and dodged every one. Merlin didn't intend to hurt his king, of course, but Arthur came back even stronger each time, blue eyes hard, determined, and...angry. He slammed against him with his sword and Merlin thrust him backwards, unsettled by the vehemence. His eyes flared gold, causing Arthur's sword to burn uncomfortably hot. Arthur backed off and dropped it. His flaming gaze accused Merlin.

"I said...it wouldn't be fair," Merlin breathed out, then sank to the ground, bracing his hands behind him and steepling his knees.

Arthur took up a similar position across from him, tentatively brushing his fingertips on the practice sword. Finding it cool, he picked it up, running his eyes over it. "Do you know what _amazes_ me? How I just _missed_ every thing you did. You lied for _years_." He dug the sword into the earth.

"I hated every lie."

Arthur's eyes were still on the sword. "That story about Bruta, that was another lie, wasn't it?"

"Arthur, I didn-"

Arthur turned to him. "Don't say it wasn't because we both know that isn't true."

Merlin's eyes lowered. "I wouldn't lie to you _now_."

"The lying, I understand, it's just...how I could be so _stupid_." Arthur pitched onto his back, rubbing at his eyes.

Merlin looked up, realizing the anger hadn't been directed at him. He crawled over to Arthur, sitting cross-legged next to his friend. "You trusted me."

"And Morgana and Agravaine and even _Gwen_."

"It was your bane. Your trust."

Arthur stopped rubbing his eyes and peered upward at him.

"And your strength. It's both. Don't feel bad. We all have something like that."

"What's yours?"

"Crying."

" _Mer_ lin."

"I'm serious. Compassion. Someone once told me seeing good in people is my undoing."

"And has it been?"

"Sometimes. But it's been good, too. It made me see value in a prat."

Arthur chuckled.

"You thought people were like you. Good and honorable and loyal. That's not wrong."

Arthur growled and scratched at the top of his head. "I wasted so much time." He jerked up, slapping the back of Merlin's head.

"Ow." Merlin rubbed at it. "What was that for?"

"You told me you were the same person, but you're not. All this?" He gestured at the training field and mansion. "It's different. You're different. It changes things."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. I like it. I like _you_ , it's just, if I had known back then, we could have done more together, and I think I would have been...wiser."

"I should have told you."

"Maybe you should have."

Merlin sighed. "I wanted to tell you so many times, but..."

"I remember. You didn't want me conflicted, worried about turning you in or not."

"In the beginning it was just my own head I cared about."

Arthur smiled. "Yeah, well, I did try to take it off, so..." Merlin grinned. Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder. "I wish I'd known _this_ man, the one who writes, and tends creatures and flowers, and can hold his own in a fight of all things. There's so much I didn't get."

"I didn't do all of this," now Merlin indicated the house, "when you knew me."

"But there was more to you even then."

"Isn't there to everyone?"

"I think you knew me better than I knew myself," Arthur mumbled.

Merlin didn't answer. It was true really. He had hidden and lied, but Arthur had always been an open book. "It really was a stupid thing to say. I wasn't really the same." Arthur had only seen what he let him see.

"Not the idiot, clumsy servant I imagined."

"Erm, maybe a little clumsy."

Arthur sighed. "This world, your books, everything. I don't know how I fit into it anymore, who _I_ am."

"You're my king and my lord and..."

"Friend."

"Yeah."

Arthur stood and reached down to help him up. "I need to change. Catch up. Somehow." He ran a hand through his hair. "Teach me. I promise to be a better student."

"You won't throw things at me?"

"I'll try not to."

"I am your elder, you know. Throwing goblets is unacceptable. And hitting me. That's out."

"I won't hit you, then."

"Good." A hand smacked the back of his head. "Arthur!"

"When you _look_ old, anyway." He sprinted back to the house, Merlin hot on his heels.


	4. No More Lies

Arthur rolled over to his back when a whisper invaded his dream. "Arthur." Something rocked his shoulder. "Arthur," the whisper repeated, insistent. "Prat. Wake up."

Prat? Who dared address the king with an insult?

"Dollophead, if you don't get up, I'm whacking you with a pillow."

When he discovered who was being so disrespectful, the stocks were going to have a permanent occupant. A sudden smack to the face jolted his eyelids open. Moonlight streamed through the window and afforded him enough illumination to see Merlin standing over him. "Merlin!" He snapped up the pillow beneath his head and launched it at the warlock, who dodged to the right so the projectile tumbled halfway across the room before landing with a soft thud.

" _This_ is why I always hated waking you up," Merlin in his younger form complained as he retrieved the pillow. Another already pressed between Merlin's arm and side must have been the weapon that had roused him from sleep. The warlock stacked both pillows back on the bed.

"It's the middle of the night!" Arthur protested, snatching the one on top, slamming it down on the bed, and shoving his face into it.

"It's the best time to do this. I've hung your clothes over the dressing screen. Get up."

"Merlin, what in the heavens?" Arthur exclaimed, craning his neck up in annoyance.

"She's back, and I said no more lies." Merlin's expression had grown serious. "I promise to explain, but I'd like to do that as we go to her."

Arthur slid his feet off the bed, stretching and yawning and feeling like Percival had accidentally punched his head in practice. "I'm tired."

"Stop whining like a child."

"Merlin, you've recreated all this." Arthur waved his hand around the room. "Do you have stocks somewhere, just for old time's sake?"

Merlin's solemnity broke for a moment and he chuckled. "I forgot those."

"I command you to make them. Now."

Merlin laughed louder. "Stop delaying."

Arthur groaned as he rose from the bed and stumbled over to the dressing screen. Bleary eyed, he stripped off his night clothes and donned the trousers, shirt, cloak, and boots Merlin had chosen for him. "Who is _she_?"

"Let's wait on that."

"Why?"

"Because. Trust me."

"I'm not sure I can if we have to sneak around like thieves to do whatever it is we're doing." He stepped out from behind the screen.

"Just follow me."

Arthur motioned at the doorway. "Lead on. And this better be worth disturbing my rest."

"Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, my lord."

"Shut up, Merlin."

* * *

Arthur tramped after his sorcerer into the wooded area directly behind the palatial mansion. Merlin had previously told him he owned not just the house, but a good share of the land surrounding it, including the lake. Arthur had been impressed at Merlin's foresight to save up enough coin to preserve the area, and touched that Merlin had done it for _him_. _I didn't want you to feel that you were alone_ , Arthur remembered. And he never had, even if Merlin hadn't always been physically present in the area.

The warlock had related a little of his journeys, traveling the world to learn, listen, and add to his wisdom so he could someday instruct his king. Arthur ruminated as he balanced on a line of stones crossing a small stream, guided by Merlin's hand lit with a burning flame. Several times in his former life, Merlin's wisdom had slipped through. Sometimes he'd mocked his servant's words, though they always meant the world to him. Even so, he could never have foreseen himself a pupil of his manservant. This current arrangement was amusing, and strange, and altogether exactly as it should be. He couldn't get over the feeling it was so very _right_.

Arthur strode parallel to Merlin, navigating underbrush by the beams emanating from the sorcerer's palm. He cast a glance at Merlin's profile sticking out from his hooded cloak. "You know I don't mind if you look old."

Merlin glanced at him.

"It seems appropriate now." After all, if Merlin was his mentor, he might as well look the part.

"The spell isn't difficult. I'm used to it. It doesn't drain me much unless I'm doing something taxing with my magic at the same time."

"Well, don't keep up appearances for my sake."

Merlin turned back and tripped over a raised root. Arthur grasped his elbow to keep him from sprawling.

"Not entirely light on your feet still, are you?

Merlin smirked. "I really haven't been clumsy till you came back."

"It's my fault then."

"Must be."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Merlin held his hand up between them, eyes reflecting the dancing flame. "I don't wear this form just for you."

"Oh?"

"When I'm with you, and I look like this...it's like..." Merlin went silent for several seconds.

"What?"

"Like you never left." Their eyes connected momentarily, a shared emotion they couldn't express shining in their gazes.

"I'm sor—" Arthur tried, but Merlin abruptly turned and marched on.

"We've been over this. That wasn't your fault. Besides, it's so unlike you to ask for forgiveness." Arthur caught the hint of amusement in Merlin's last statement.

He considered. He'd been raised not to apologize to anyone beneath him, to expect people to bow to his wishes and bend to his will. Such upbringing made him strong and decisive, and a bit of an ass, as Guinevere had pointed out on occasion. "When I think about it, I wish it had been different," Arthur managed. That wasn't an apology, just a fact.

"I can't imagine you _wanted_ to die," Merlin returned. Arthur watched Merlin's profile smile and the dimple appear on his right cheek. He couldn't help smiling himself. "It would have been nice if it had been different. I missed you. A lot. But you being here at the lake, it helped. It kept me, I don't know...grounded, somehow."

"I didn't miss you," Arthur stated. Merlin stumbled again, but maintained his balance this time. "When I woke up, your lady was there and that's when I knew I'd died. I wondered where you'd gone, because you'd been right there holding me. She said I'd see you soon."

Merlin wiped a sleeve across his eyes. He surged forwards up a ridge and paused at the pinnacle. "Now that you _are_ back, I'm not going to hide _anything_ from you." His friend turned, drawing the flame up to his face again. "I don't show many people what I'm about to show you. You can't tell anyone about her, and I need your solemn oath you won't."

Arthur stared, confused and a little offended. "You think I'd break your trust?"

"I have to ask you this, Arthur. I have a responsibility to her."

"Maybe I want to know who _she_ is first."

"She's good and she won't hurt you."

"Stop being cryptic."

"I won't tell you anything at all if you don't swear."

Arthur sighed. "I swear on my life I won't reveal whatever it is you want to show me."

Merlin nodded once, then descended the ridge. Arthur followed in his wake, unsettled. Who in the world was so important Merlin would make him swear to secrecy before revealing her? Another lover perhaps? A magical one? But they were in the middle of nowhere, and he hardly thought Merlin would stow a woman he loved in...a cave. Merlin had stopped at a wide yawning mouth. Arthur halted next to him and peered inside at the pitch black.

"Remember when we hunted Borden to find the dragon egg?" Merlin asked quietly.

"Yes."

"And I let you believe it had perished when the tower collapsed?"

Arthur's stomach churned. " _Let_ me believe?"

"I misled you."

"How?" Arthur's voice was hushed. He recalled their quest ending with Merlin assuring him of the egg's destruction.

"I took the egg."

Arthur exhaled slowly. "You always did have a soft spot for helpless beasts. So you still have it, then?"

Merlin kept his eyes locked on Arthur's and Arthur didn't like it one bit. "I hatched it."

Arthur blinked, questions tumbling through his mind. How? Why? Where? But only one made it to his lips. "When?"

"When we got back to Camelot."

Arthur propped his hands on his hips, working to restrain a flare of anger. "You're telling me you purposefully hatched a dangerous creature that could destroy my capital?"

"I did." Merlin didn't sound in the least repentant.

Arthur rationalized. It hadn't attacked Camelot, so in the end, no harm had been done. "When we get back, you're building those stocks."

Merlin tilted his head at the abrupt change in conversation.

"You've lied how many times to your king? That's got to be years in them."

Merlin burst out laughing and Arthur did, too. If he didn't make the joke to diffuse the tension he'd start raving at Merlin's recklessness.

"Where did the beast go?"

"I'm not sure really. She's a free creature."

Arthur's mouth went dry. " _She_? Merlin, don't tell me..."

"I named her Aithusa, and she's here." Merlin pointed at the cave.

Arthur swiveled on his heel, turning fearful eyes to the cave. Merlin wouldn't ever hurt him, so he must trust this...what? Pet? Suddenly a load of guttural gibberish was proceeding from Merlin's mouth, and Arthur gazed at his friend in shock. A strained whine echoed from the cave. Arthur's hand whipped to his side, but met an empty hipbone. They hadn't come armed. _Nothing to fear. Nothing to fear_ , he chanted to himself. All his life he'd been told how dangerous and lethal and out of control dragons were.

A ghostly form appeared and Merlin shuffled towards it. Arthur came cautiously behind, not wanting to look a coward, but recalling battling against a dragon spewing fire from its mouth, intending to roast him alive. The emerging dragon was smaller than the one he'd confronted; if he stood on Merlin's shoulders, they would equal its height. It seemed sickly, pale, misshapen, with numerous scars streaking its sides.

Arthur halted several paces away from his warlock as Merlin rubbed the top of its head. It stuffed its snout into his chest. Merlin grinned and pushed back his hood with one hand. "Hey, girl. Where've you been?" She twittered a little and Merlin seemed to be listening to her. "Really? Good. I have someone here to meet you, and I promise he's safe."

Arthur hardly registered the introduction. Merlin was communing with a dragon. _Cuddling_ it.

"Arthur, you're gaping like a fish."

Arthur came to and clamped his mouth shut.

"Come meet Aithusa."

Arthur took a tentative few steps forward. The dragon turned her head, following his progress, then darted forwards. He almost collapsed to his knees in fright, but she was upon him in seconds, thrusting her head under his chin. He heard Merlin laughing.

"Aithusa!" his friend shouted.

The dragon backed up, but lifted her wing.

"She's offering for us to sit with her."

Arthur turned a stunned face to Merlin. "Huh?"

"Like this." The dragon settled on the ground and Merlin sat down, leaning into her side where she'd raised her wing. "You're not afraid are you?"

"No," Arthur forced out, joining Merlin. The dragon lowered her wing, enclosing them in a scaly shelter. The light in Merlin's hand burned all the brighter in the small space.

"You can relax. Lay against her."

Arthur pushed back into the dragon's side. A vibration thrummed beneath his head and a rather large repetitive thump. Merlin extinguished his light. Arthur blinked in surprise, pushing away panic when they plunged into darkness.

"She recognized you."

"Me?"

"She was close to Carwyn. Closer than I ever have been."

Arthur swallowed hard. Carwyn. His son. They hadn't talked much about his continuing lineage since that first day he'd returned at the lake.

"She must have sensed the relation."

Arthur could hardly think. He was accepted by a dragon because his son had been. "My son made friends with a dragon." What in the world would Uther's shade think about him now? Married a maid. Knighted commoners. Conceived a son who became chummy with a dragon.

"Arthur, I did something...horrible, though I felt I had no choice." Merlin's voice was almost inaudible.

Arthur didn't speak right away, sensing that meeting the dragon had only been a prelude for a confession. "Tell me," he mirrored Merlin's hushed tone.

"When I first arrived in Camelot, I heard a voice calling to me, and when I followed it, I found a dragon. The great dragon chained under the citadel."

Arthur couldn't make out Merlin's form in the dark under the dragon's wing, but their shoulders were touching. Merlin shifted nervously. "What did it say to you?" Merlin heard the dragon. All right. He could go with that. Both of them were magic, after all, right?

"I used to visit him and ask for advice."

Arthur found himself reaching out to shake Merlin's shoulder. "You _visited_ it?"

"Yes."

"If my father had caught you, he would have killed you!"

"He didn't."

"You idiot! What could you learn from it anyway?"

"All kinds of things about magic. I wasn't exactly trained when I showed up in Camelot. He had knowledge when Gaius' failed." Merlin huffed. "Even though he wasn't always straight with me."

"So you talked to it. I mean, that was stupid, but it doesn't sound that horrible," Arthur noted.

"We rode out to kill him," Merlin whispered.

Arthur thought he understood why Merlin sounded so upset. "You didn't want to kill him because you'd gotten to know him."

"I _did_ want to kill him."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Then what was so horrible?"

"I lied. I told you you dealt a mortal blow."

Arthur fixed his eyes on where he thought his friend was in the darkness. "But I didn't," he intuited. "You did?"

"I didn't kill him."

Heavens! Merlin had _saved_ it? "Don't tell me you had a heart to heart with it and let it escape?"

"I didn't _let_ it escape."

Arthur widened his eyes. "You made it leave with magic." His mind reeled. How many of his memories were false?

"A specific kind of magic. Remember we went to find a dragonlord."

Arthur nodded. "And he died. So, we didn't have him and you tried to make it stop with magic. Well, it worked."

Merlin's shoulder pulled away and he sensed the warlock hunching over his knees. "The dragonlord. Balinor. He was my father."

"Your...father," Arthur stammered. An image of Merlin kneeling over the dragonlord's body and weeping almost uncontrollably flashed through his mind. "I said he wasn't worth your tears." He wanted to punch a tree. How many times had his words wounded Merlin because he hadn't been let in on the most important part of his life?

"I didn't know until right before we started out to find him. Gaius told me."

Arthur pressed fingers into his eyes, stemming moisture. "Did the dragonlord know?"

"I told him."

Arthur coughed to clear his emotions. "So there I was, thinking we're on a mission, and you're having a family reunion?"

"Something like that."

"Gods, Merlin. Why in the world did you keep being my friend? Destiny or not, I must have failed you a hundred times over."

"Because you didn't know, so I never held any of it against you."

"No more lies," Arthur recalled their promise.

"No more. When a dragonlord dies, his son inherits his abilities."

"You're a dragonlord?" Arthur blinked. What in the... "I didn't read you were a dragonlord," he hissed.

"I didn't let Blaise write about it."

"Blaise?"

"You've been reading his works about me."

Ah. So that was the man's name. Merlin's scribe. He had a beautiful script Arthur had admired.

"Only a few people have ever known I was a dragonlord. I commanded the dragon to leave that night, the first time I'd ever used the ability. I continued to call him sometimes, when I needed help."

Arthur's mind clicked, putting the pieces together. A dragon calling to Merlin, Merlin finding out he was a dragonlord, Merlin talking to it, even after it had attacked Camelot. His gut roiled. "Merlin...Who freed it?"

Merlin didn't answer, but his breaths turned harsh.

Arthur ground his jaw. It was okay. This was okay. Fifteen hundred years gone. And Merlin was loyal. Always had been. "No more lies. No hiding."

"I did," his friend whispered, then words tumbled out of his mouth, crashing into each other like stormy waves. "He told me how to stop the Knights of Medhir, and I had to promise him I'd free him or he'd let Camelot fall, and so I did on my mother's life, and I was stuck then. I should have made him promise not to attack Camelot. I didn't know what else to do."

Arthur replayed what he'd read in Merlin's biography and what Merlin had allowed him to see in his memories. He'd felt the pain of Merlin poisoning Morgana. His guilt when they'd lost his father. What would he feel if he saw Merlin's transgression in the releasing of the dragon? He could guess. Regret and condemnation. For saving Camelot, and then getting it destroyed and people killed.

He felt Merlin pushing away from him, but he gripped his arm and pulled him back to his side. "No wonder you hid yourself from me."

"Arthur, I'm sor..."

"No. No, Merlin. I can't accept your apology."

"Arthur." Hurt drained Merlin's voice of its vitality.

"What right do I have to judge you? If I fault you, I fault myself. I believed Morgana and Agravaine. People died because I did what I thought was best, too."

Merlin didn't speak for a moment and tears muffled his voice when he did. "Thank you." Arthur heard the implication⸺ _for accepting me anyway._

Silence descended once again and not long after, Merlin's breathing deepened. Arthur traced his fingertips down Merlin's arm, then lightly brushed at his chest where his touch met the beard he'd expected. Merlin had transformed in the dark. Easier that way to face him with this information maybe. "Rest, friend," he spoke softly. One more burden had been lifted from the warlock's weary soul.

Arthur turned his cheek into the dragon's leathery side. Now _he_ was being cuddled by a dragon. What twists and turns destiny boasted. He closed his eyes, dragons and citadels and warlocks and a son he hadn't known coloring his dreams.

* * *

"Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"It's morning."

"What?"

"Open your eyes."

Arthur blinked at misty light streaming through swaying branches. His head was pillowed on a bed of leaves and his body draped in a white wing. Young Merlin peered down at him. Arthur groaned, sitting up. The wing withdrew and its owner stood, her head swinging over next to Merlin's. The dragon's pallid, cornflower blue eyes startled Arthur. He put a hand to his chest. "What happened?"

"We fell asleep."

"Oh. Right." Arthur wobbled to his feet, then assessed the dragon by daylight. She was still large and white, but somehow less intimidating.

"We should get back. Marg will wonder where we've taken off to."

Arthur nodded. He'd met the housekeeper but hadn't spoken a word to her out of ignorance. He wasn't well enough versed in modern language yet.

Merlin patted Aithusa on the head. "Be careful. Keep hidden."

She whined, then waddled back into the cave.

"You trust her, then?" Arthur asked as he watched her leave.

"As much as you can a dragon. She is a wild creature after all." Merlin began to hike back up the ridge, the hood of his cloak still thrown back.

Arthur stared around at the woods bathed in soft focus by the dawn. Funny how the morning could change perspective. The horrible secret Merlin had exposed in the dead of night seemed of little consequence. He caught up to Merlin's side, a thought from last night on his mind. "There was a dragon at Camlann."

"It was Aithusa," Merlin confirmed. "She had given her loyalty to Morgana, but I sent her away from Camlann. I didn't want her to hurt anyone, but I also didn't want her to be hurt. She was angry with me for a while. She'd bonded with Morgana because they were both entrapped by Sarrum."

Arthur's heart sank, the pain he'd experienced when Sarrum casually mentioned his cruelty towards his half-sister coming back to him.

"When we found her, she needed to heal. She'd been through so much, and I think Carwyn's childlike innocence broke through her barriers."

Carwyn again. His son raised by his best friend, a man who himself had grown up without a father. He didn't even realize he'd begun to cry until a tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly.

"Arthur? Are you all right?"

Curse Merlin and his keen sensitivity! He coughed.

"No more hiding means you, too."

Arthur's frustration exploded. "Good dragons, pure magic, my life cut short at Camlann. You and me and _her_." He jerked a thumb back the way they'd come. "What could Albion possibly need from us? We're out of time and place."

Merlin sighed and shrugged. "There must be some reason destiny calls a king from the middle ages and a sorcerer with fifteen hundred years of experience."

"But you don't know."

"Not yet. We just need to take it slow. Be patient."

"Patience," Arthur sighed. He'd never really excelled at that. Merlin apparently had it in spades. Ugh. All this emotional stuff. He'd rarely given voice to his heart, especially where _Merlin_ was concerned, and in the last two weeks they'd said more than they ever had in seven _years_. He felt a sudden urge to smack Merlin, just to recapture some normalcy.

He launched an attack, wrapping his arm around Merlin's neck, forcing him into a headlock. His knuckles viciously scrubbed the raven hair.

"What the...Arthur! Stop it! Arthur!" When he didn't let up, Merlin must have used magic, because a forceful shove broke his hold and sent him tumbling to his knees.

Merlin massaged the top of his head. "What are you playing at?"

"All those lies. You don't have stocks and you have to pay somehow."

Merlin stared daggers at him, then huffed a laugh. "So that's the way it is, is it?"

Arthur felt himself pulled to his feet by an invisible hand. Merlin's eyes were gleaming gold. "What are you doing?"

"Payback."

Arthur tried to struggle, but the magic grip tightened as Merlin approached and made his own knuckles a relentless weapon. Arthur tossed his head about trying to get away. "Merlin! I'll...I'll..."

"You'll what, sire?"

"Something!" Merlin just hooted with laughter and released him. Arthur smoothed down his mussed hair.

A string of incomprehensible language ushered from the backdoor. Arthur glanced up at the housekeeper. She finished and ambled across the lawn with a large basket. He had noticed she liked to string up sheets for drying instead of employing the laundry contraption.

Merlin giggled and Arthur raised his eyebrows at him for a translation. "She thinks it's ridiculous when grown men act like spoiled children."

Arthur laughed and reached out to ruffle Merlin's hair. The warlock jerked back, but didn't retaliate. Arthur punched his shoulder and they entered the house side by side.


	5. Legendary Truths

"That's good. It's better," Merlin complimented his friend, beaming at the blond man sitting across from him. He'd just managed several sentences in a more modern tongue, still simple, but good enough someone could understand him.

Arthur let out a long breath and smiled tiredly. "Enough for today, then?"

Merlin nodded and ran a hand over his trimmed beard. He'd thought it would take Arthur a lot longer to be okay with the "old Dragoon", but his friend had accepted so much about him over such a short time. It was rather amazing, really, that Arthur adjusted so well, but then he'd been pretty good at adapting to change. Sometimes he needed encouragement here and there, but after shouldering both Morgana's and Agravaine's betrayals, not to mention Mordred's that led to his death, Merlin supposed he'd had practice in absorbing new situations and truths.

Merlin gathered up several superfluous books to return to the shelves.

"How many languages do you know?"

"Hm?" he asked as he re-shelved the books one by one, making sure they stayed organized.

"How many languages can you read and speak?"

Merlin set the last book in its place and wandered back to the table, eyes rolled to the right as he considered. "That depends if you mean languages proper or include dialects within them."

"Either," Arthur demanded.

"Not counting dead languages, probably somewhere around twenty." He smiled wistfully to himself, recalling dedicated tutors throughout the years. Languages weren't too easy in the beginning, but the more he learned, the better he got at picking them up. And then there was Edith, obsessed with linguistics and forging the way for women to learn in universities. He would have married her if she'd been willing to have him, but his secret had been too much for her.

Merlin pulled himself from memory, refocusing on Arthur who stared in disbelief. "What?"

"Twenty?"

"It's not many in a world as vast as ours."

"Did you know _any_ back in Camelot?"

Merlin laughed. "I was a poor boy from a backwards village in Essetir. What do you think?"

"You didn't."

"Unless you count the language of magic and dragon tongue."

"Then how is all this," Arthur motioned at the other books still left on the table, "so easy for you?"

Merlin stepped over to his king to lay an encouraging hand on his shoulder. "It wasn't easy. It took a lot of work and memorization, and I've had the advantage of growing with language. You have to grasp it all at once."

Arthur sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Merlin almost tangibly felt the pent up frustration in his gaze. Arthur had been stuck in the mansion over a week now. Too much for a man who had once thrived on hunting and the exercise of his prowess.

"Do you want to train?"

Arthur stood, stretching his arms above his head. "No. I think I might hike."

"I'll go with you."

"What about the new calygreyhound pups? You've been on about them all day. Especially the runt."

Conflict warred inside Merlin. He'd been sustaining the runt of Sasha's litter since the birth two nights before. Arthur had even stayed with him in the menagerie, sleeping restlessly in a poorly padded chair despite Merlin's protest. He was employing a combination of magic and medicine. So few magical creatures existed these days, it would bruise his soul to lose even one.

"I'll be all right. I'm not going to disappear." Arthur's words struck to the heart of the matter, and the light in his friend's eyes proclaimed he knew he was right. For a man that had been so oblivious before, he certainly perceived enough. Merlin wondered if Arthur's newfound awareness came from centuries of rejuvenation in the magic waters of Avalon. This Arthur had come back to him willing to listen and learn with a humility he hadn't evidenced much before. Or maybe it was a result of the way he'd died, saying "thank you" to a servant and a friend...

"I know you're here to stay," Merlin replied.

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. "Then I can go alone."

"Don't pass the barriers," Merlin warned.

Arthur had already strode towards the door and drawled without looking back, "Yes, _father_."

* * *

Arthur relished the out of doors, not least because the tumult of his mind calmed whenever he left the mansion. With the exception of the upstairs, where the illusion of Camelot reigned, the house's walls seemed to close in on him. He cared for Merlin, of course, valued him even more now, but he was glad his friend hadn't accompanied him. Merlin was another reminder that he could never recover the life he'd lost.

He'd disappeared without a proper farewell to Gwen, a last kiss. Gwaine had perished being tortured, honored later absent the adulation of his king. Merlin had grieved and fled Camelot until his son was born. He'd had a son. Arthur forced these thoughts away. What good would it do him? Merlin had been rich with years that enabled him to adjust to differences and the passing of friends; he'd had little over a month.

Arthur paused to fill his lungs, relish fresh air, clear his mind. The world may have changed, but these woods felt reassuringly familiar. If only Merlin would let him have a crossbow. "It's illegal to hunt with a crossbow," the warlock informed him, the tiniest hint of triumph in his gaze. Another change that scraped at Arthur's ancient soul. One just went somewhere and got food off a shelf, so Merlin said. Where was the thrill in that? Eating something you had stalked yourself had to be more satisfying.

Arthur caught sight of the lake through the trees. He changed direction towards it, suddenly curious. Did Merlin's lady still dwell in it? He was back now, and the sword, too, so would she fade away or remain? He pushed through the trees, stepping up to the shore. He couldn't see the island from this vantage point, the place he'd waited underground for fifteen hundred years.

"Hello."

Arthur about jumped out of his skin, whipping around, his hand going to his hip out of habit. No sword once again.

A young woman looked on him curiously. She sported auburn hair, green eyes, a blue jumper, and strange blue trousers made of some unfamiliar material. Her hair was tied back, and thin wire glasses bridged her nose. She was staring at him with wonder as if she saw him as out of place as he saw her. Merlin had assured no one could cross the wards he'd secured on the land. The spells caused confusion and people turned away.

"Hello," Arthur answered. He could speak that much anyway

The woman replied and he caught some of it. She'd played here as a child, came back because of something about an old man. Mostly as she talked, Arthur felt small and helpless. He'd gone from king of this land, to a foreigner who could only muddle through a simple conversation.

The woman tilted her head, waiting for a response. When he didn't give one, she motioned at a book laid open in her lap. Then he thought he heard his own name. Who was this woman? He moved over to her, peering down at the book, catching snatches of words. He raised his eyebrows. He could read the script in it, flowing and closer to his own language than he'd expected. There it was—his name.

He pulled the book out of her hands. She stood up, but her expression wasn't angry. He read the passage.

 _Stories of King Arthur have been passed down, but the tales are often disparate. The truth of his birth, hidden during his reign, is thus. His father and mother, being unable to conceive, employed a sorceress who granted their desire. So was Arthur Pendragon born of magic to a king who later turned against it. Perhaps the Great Purge of sorcerers from Camelot began because of this event, as many suspect that to create new life, another must be taken, and the young queen perished at her son's birth._

Arthur almost dropped the book, but the young woman's hands caught it.

"Are you all right?"

Arthur stared into her concerned eyes, gazing at him through modern optical glass. "Who are you?"

"Elaine, I'm a student at..."

The rest was lost to him. "Are you a...a..." He didn't know the word! "You have magic?"

"Magic?" Now she looked at him like he was crazy.

Arthur backed away, warily, as if keeping a dangerous enemy in his sights. When he reached the woods, he turned and fled back through them.

* * *

Merlin rocked lazily, eyelids drooping. The calygreyhound runt huffed noisily in its warm slumber, swaddled in a blanket in his lap. It reminded him of Whitefoot, his first dog, a skinny, malnourished street pup. What year was that? Somewhere in the 12th century. When...when... His eyes closed.

The door to the library banged open. Merlin shot up in his seat, twisting to the door. Arthur stood at its threshold, wide eyed as if he'd seen a ghost. Merlin shifted the bundle in his lap as the king hastened over to him.

"You said no more lying." Betrayal etched Arthur's features.

"I haven't lied to you anymore."

"Who is that woman?" Arthur pointed in the direction of the lake.

"What woman?"

"Is she another wife?"

Merlin rubbed at his temple. "Arthur, sit down and make sense."

"She must have magic. She was at the lake."

Now it was Merlin's turn to look alarmed. "What?"

Arthur's anger faded a tad. "You _don't_ know her."

"Who?"

"Elaine."

Merlin's brow lifted in surprise, but he relaxed back into his seat. "I do know her."

" _Who_ is she?"

After all these years, the enchantment had held. He surprised even himself sometimes. "It's all right, Arthur. Sit."

"You—"

" _Sit_."

Arthur perched on the bed by the fireplace.

Merlin rested a hand on the snoring pup, the healing spell strong enough it hadn't stirred. "I know her father. They live not far away in a small village. She and her brothers used to play on the island in the lake. I let them. They meant no harm, and it was fun to watch their adventures. I didn't think the spell I worked to let them through would hold for so long."

Arthur took the information in, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

"She's harmless," Merlin swore.

"She had a book. About me."

Merlin blinked. That's right. When she'd given him a lift to the lake, the very day Arthur returned, she mentioned she was studying history and had interest in the Arthurian legends. "You could read it?"

"It wasn't that different from...whatever you call what we're speaking now."

"Must be her father's," Merlin mused. "He's amassed quite a collection on us."

"Us?"

Merlin sighed. "I didn't lie to you, I just didn't think about how to explain this. You were quite popular. Idolized in Camelot. Stories were told and written down and passed around. They haven't ever gone away. People still talk abut King Arthur...and his court sorcerer, Merlin."

" _Court_ Sorcerer?"

Merlin shrugged. "It's better than a servant sitting on his backside brushing boots or scrubbing floors."

Arthur shook his head. "So they aren't true."

"Some come close to the truth. This book, though, if you can read it, must be closer than many. What did it say?"

Arthur laced his fingers together, elbows propped on his knees. "You'll tell me if it's true?"

Merlin nodded.

"That I was born of magic. A sorceress enabled my birth."

Merlin's heart sank. He'd thought to tell Arthur this, but didn't see what purpose it would serve except to wound him all over again. "It's true," he whispered.

Arthur ran a hand over his face, sitting back up. "So when we went to Morgause, and she showed me my mother..."

"I still don't know if that was really your mother," Merlin interrupted. "The spell sounded real, but she could have just been conjuring the image she wanted."

"But the story was true."

"Yes," Merlin admitted. "I confronted Gaius when we returned and it is true. I'm sorry, Arthur. I did lie back then."

"To stop me killing him."

"Yes."

Arthur rose from the bed to exit the room. Merlin followed him with his eyes, not jumping up, hindered by the pup in his lap. "Arthur..."

"Give me time."

Merlin closed his mouth as his king left the room.

* * *

Night fell. Arthur watched it from his bed, the reddened sun sinking below the horizon. How many times it had risen and fallen. Thousands of days since his own time when things made sense. Only it had been a false sense. His father had deceived him.

He wasn't wrathful now like he had been back then. He understood the desperation of needing an heir, remembered the grief he shared with Gwen each time she miscarried, how he'd worried over the throne. If he died, Gwen could rule, but she wouldn't be easily accepted. An heir of his own blood would have legitimized her rule. Did in the end, even though he hadn't known it when he died.

He sympathized with the reason his father did it, but that didn't change the hypocrisy of his campaign against magic. _Or mine_. He'd despised the very thing that brought him life.

Soft footfalls approached his doorway and a tentative voice called out. "Arthur?"

He didn't turn his eyes to the door. "What else is there, Merlin? What secrets remain?"

The feet shuffled into the room, the sound of something being set on the table, probably a tray of food. A presence sat on the other side of his bed. Arthur turned just enough to behold the back of a raven head, Merlin young again.

"I haven't shown you everything I did. You know most of it from Blaise's work and the memories. I don't think I'm keeping anything from you, but I can't promise it. There's so much that happened."

Arthur sighed. "I'm not angry with you. You didn't cause my birth. My _father_ lied."

"He lied to protect you," Merlin explained quietly. "I've thought about that. You know I can't say he was a great man, but he did love you, even if he didn't do it right all the time. He didn't want you to feel any less, I think."

"It's more than that," Arthur scoffed. "My birth caused the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands."

Merlin did turn now, his sorrowful expression softened even more in the dusk. "Your mother's death was the cause. The pain of it."

Arthur swallowed hard. "He was wrong to do it."

"Your birth will never be wrong," Merlin spoke adamantly, tone turned hard.

"I mean killing people with magic. I never got the chance to make them free...to make _you_ free."

Merlin blinked and Arthur was sure the soft-hearted man he'd always teased for it was trying to stem his emotions as he always had. "We were. I was. Gwen saw to it."

"I always used to think we were so different. I didn't quite get how we could be friends. Maybe it was magic after all, and I didn't know it."

"You born of it; me born with it."

"Yeah."

"You're the Once and Future King, Arthur, meant to be born however it happened, and whatever that means, I'm going to serve you all the way through it."

"Till the day you die."

"As I promised."

Arthur heard the grin in his voice. He was immortal. He couldn't die. That meant he'd committed himself to eternal servanthood.

"Will you eat?"

Arthur pulled himself up from the bed. "If you tell me stories about us. What _do_ they say?"

"Well, there is the one where you bed Morgause and Mordred is your bastard son."

" _What?_ "

Merlin's howling laughter was cut off by a pillow to the face.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Since I can't respond to Guest reviews except here, I'll respond to the review that it was wrong of Merlin to say Arthur's birth wasn't wrong here. First, I've gone back and clarified what Merlin is saying about Uther's lying. He's not saying Uther starting the Purge or killing sorcerers was right. He is saying that Uther lied to protect Arthur. It's not that it wasn't wrong, but he's trying to explain to Arthur that his father did love him and didn't want him to think less of himself because he was born and his mother's life was exchanged, to be traumatized by that fact. He's "softening the blow" to Arthur, so to speak.

Then Merlin explains that it's not Arthur himself that is the cause of the Purge, but Uther's grief. _Uther_ is to blame not Arthur.

Next, I do not believe a baby is at fault for being born or for what comes of it. Arthur's actual birth is not wrong. Arthur coming into the world is not something that Merlin would ever be willing to call wrong. What _Uther_ did (and frankly, Nimueh) to cause the birth and what was done after _is_ wrong, but not the birth itself.

Finally, Merlin doesn't say he wasn't wrong for not telling Arthur the truth. In fact, he apologizes. It's a factual statement that he lied to keep him from killing his father, but he does not say it was necessarily right.


	6. Once and Always

Merlin tipped a bottle of powder until enough colored his mixture. He stirred with a wooden tool, watching the salve thicken. Evening light filtered through the windows, casting shadows on the floor he cherished. When he was here, in Gaius' recreated chambers, he could feel the physician with him, maybe watching him from beyond the veil.

He sighed. Time had marched on for him and would continually do so until there was an end to everything. He didn't regret his life; far from it. The things he'd accomplished and the people he'd loved meant he could never bring himself to hate living. He'd suffered times of depression in the early years, but quickly learned how to deal with them by honing his focus. He'd think of Arthur, waiting for his time in the golden waters of Avalon, the bond between them strong even though one side of it slept, and he'd endure for another year or ten or a hundred.

Still, such purpose couldn't remove the pain of missing the people he'd loved. He wished so much to look over at the fire where Gaius stirred a pot of some new experimental concoction and confess how much he understood the physician now, his choices and decisions. What an unfortunate truth that the young couldn't fully empathize until they met the experiences of the older themselves.

Merlin lay down his tool and picked up the bowl. He didn't care what anyone claimed, several of the old ways were better than the newer ones. No salve could compare to Gaius' old remedy, especially when he added a little incantation to increase the healing effect. He just wouldn't mention the extra boost to Arthur.

Merlin shuffled to the doorway, stepping out into the hall and trudging down to his king's chambers, running a hand over his white beard. Confound Arthur, asserting that magically healing training wounds somehow lessened the satisfaction of the training itself. Merlin had never been too keen on warrior ways, and Arthur was a warrior through and through.

Arthur looked at him when he entered, sitting in a chair at the table. He'd removed his shirt, exposing the jagged wound on his right upper arm. A reddened cloth in his hand and a bowl of water in front of him indicated he'd managed to cleanse it.

Merlin stepped up to him with the bowl. "This might hurt."

"I'm not a girl, Merlin."

"Certainly not," Merlin grumbled under his breath.

"That sounded sarcastic."

"It was. Men can hurt as much as women. These days any woman would be insulted to hear you claim being a girl is any less than a man. Marg would have your head."

Arthur snorted.

"You don't think Gwen or Isolde or Mithian were as strong as you?"

"Such a champion for women. I never thought chivalry your strong point."

"Says the man who's only been married once."

Arthur huffed a laugh. "Gods, life would be dull without you."

Merlin placed his salve covered fingers to the wound and gently applied it. Arthur stiffened and clenched his teeth, and Merlin stifled a smirk. After a few moments, Arthur relaxed, the medication doing its work. "Better?"

Arthur nodded.

"I really wish you hadn't insisted on the dummy enchantment. It's too powerful. I should reduce its effectiveness." Merlin kept forgetting to keep his mouth shut around Arthur. He was just so used to talking about his magic with those who knew and loved him anyway after all these years. He'd mentioned enchanting the training dummy to fight when Arthur complained about him not being more available to practice whenever he wanted.

"As much as you claim your prowess as a swordsman, I've taken you down twice since your initial display."

"And I didn't mind either time," Merlin reminded him. Not much anyway. He'd tried not to look put out when Arthur crowed.

"But I still nicked you."

"Hardly scratches."

"Truth is," Arthur shifted in his seat when Merlin set the bowl down and retrieved a rolled bandage to wrap around his arm. "I don't train as hard when you fight me."

Merlin shook his head. "You've held back? To make me feel good about myself?"

"For that reason, no. Because..."

"What?"

"I don't want to hurt you!"

Merlin chuckled. "That never stopped you before."

"Yes, well, it's different now. You're a fifteen hundred year old man."

"That's not why. You actually care now."

Arthur looked away. "Maybe a little. It's not that I didn't care back then, but...I don't know...it was easier when you were simply Merlin, not legendary Merlin."

Merlin's eyes moved to the pile of books on Arthur's table and one opened on his bed. He'd been enjoying the conversation—up until now. Ever since the truth of his birth had come to light, his friend had been very un-Arthurlike, silent and studious. Merlin had been okay with the change in the beginning. Brooding had often been Arthur's way when he'd had to absorb distressing information, but his mood had continued for weeks.

Merlin sympathized. Sometimes people harbored secrets you felt should have been told because they affected your view of yourself. He knew because the identity of his own father had been kept from him. He remembered telling Gaius, "I had a right to know."

As an older man, a more mature and wise one, he understood the reason for the secrecy. Balinor, his mother, Gaius, all of them had meant to protect him. As a man who had been a father more than once, he had experienced that sense of duty. And still, he hated he hadn't known. The day or so he'd spent with his father hadn't been nearly enough to satisfy the empty hole he'd lived with since he'd understood at the age of five what it meant to be called a bastard.

For Arthur, the truth was even more upending. It tied him to magic in a personal way, his very existence the product of it. For a man who spent almost his entire life despising it and only cautiously respecting people such as the Druids a few years as king, it was a shock. Even if he _had_ accepted his best friend as a sorcerer.

Merlin exhaled gradually. Perhaps even harder to accept was his father's deceit, how he'd lied to his face. And that his mother had been taken so he could live, a double blow.

 _And I lied. To his face._ Arthur didn't seem to hold the event against him, and yet, Merlin couldn't deny his part in Arthur's current pain. He'd kept Uther's secret. Several months later, when he discovered he'd been deceived himself, both his father and his own nature as a possible dragonlord hidden from him, he'd been able to empathize with Arthur that fateful day Morgause showed him his mother. By then it had been too late to change anything without making everything worse.

"You should stop reading all those. They aren't good for you," Merlin murmured, moving his gaze from the books.

Arthur didn't reply as Merlin finished tying off the bandage. Arthur's language study had improved tenfold since he'd become aware of the books containing stories of Camelot. He couldn't sate his curiosity, even though the legends and myths bothered the hell out of him, and Merlin could guess why. Reading them was like being lied to all over again, or the world being lied to anyway, believing in a caricature instead of the real man. Yet like a moth to a flame, the drive to know what others said about him kept him returning for more. Heaven forbid the day Arthur met a smart phone!

Arthur stood, sauntering to the bed and laying back to rest.

"I'll draw you a bath."

"No," Arthur said adamantly. "Do whatever you need to. I can look after myself."

Merlin picked up the bowl and the soiled cloth. "You can talk to me, you know."

Arthur closed his eyes. "I know," he whispered.

Merlin bowed his head even though Arthur couldn't see him. "Sire." He left as quietly as he could.

* * *

The moment Merlin closed the door to the hall, Arthur popped up, pacing back and forth in the room. He kept running a hand through his hair and fiddling with the ring on his left forefinger. He glanced at the open book, another ream of tales about him and his kingdom. Everything he'd read made them all seem larger than life. Merlin was a shape-shifting wizard with his hand in various supernatural happenings. His life fairly glowed in the stories, except maybe that time a woman trapped him leading to his death. Arthur had smiled at that.

But what of him? The stories made him both better and worse. He was courageous and insanely capable, taking on Saxons and magical beasts of all kinds, killing by the hundreds in battle and yet, at other times, sitting around in his castle lazily doing nothing. And Gwen had gotten it over him with Lancelot. That had stung. Brought back old memories. He'd ordered her execution, something he never would have done, and Lancelot saved her.

Lancelot, it seemed, shone more than he did. Some heroic figure this world had found tantalizing. The ludicrousness of the tales made them funny in some ways, and Merlin had claimed he owned these books more for a laugh than anything else. Still...

How could this world ever accept him? He had found this house stifling, Merlin's insistent confinement draining on him until he read the legends. Now he never wanted to leave, expose himself to all these ridiculous ideas of who he was.

And then there were the dreams. He couldn't sleep well anymore. He'd been born of magic. His mother died. His father lied. What did that even mean? It meant he'd participated in hating and destroying people for participating in acts he himself owed his life to. It meant his life had been manipulated from the beginning to one way of being and thinking. What integrity could he possibly claim that made him worth following now?

Arthur stopped and stared out the window at the deep woods. Somewhere out there on the edge of it was the lake. He found himself lamenting he'd ever woken up.

* * *

Merlin puttered about his rooms and estate, but couldn't concentrate. He didn't like it when Arthur seemed shaken. Arthur was meant to be straightforward and decisive. Anytime he dwelt too long in this kind of mood, Merlin worried. Like when Tristan had kept slinging snide comments at the king before they retook Camelot from Morgana causing him to doubt himself.

Merlin laid down on the couch in his front room, surrounded by knickknacks from his travels. He'd gained perspective by seeing the world. One could easily become single-focused, thinking oneself the only important person in the world and the one with all the answers. He'd come to view his story as only a small part of history. It kept him humble and balanced.

Maybe that was why he didn't suffer the same doubt as Arthur. In the past, he'd clung to the belief that Arthur would accomplish the uniting of Albion and the freedom of magic—until he'd died. His world had been rocked, but over the years, he'd pondered Kilgharrah's words and come to accept that he and Arthur would continue their story when the time came to take their rightful place in history.

But Arthur didn't have that surety. He hadn't been bathed in prophecy for years, multiple people, and a dragon, hammering into you your purpose and your king's.

Merlin rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He'd already advised Arthur to be patient, that together they'd figure out the reason for his return. But maybe his encouragement didn't have the impact that it used to. Maybe his words weren't enough.

And that was why he lay here thinking, was it time? He hadn't intended to show Arthur the basement until his purpose became clear, but Arthur needed to see and know.

"Merlin."

Merlin opened his eyes to behold Arthur bending over him. "You're awake."

"I didn't sleep." He held up an armful of books. "Take them all. I don't want them anymore."

Merlin pulled himself up as Arthur handed them over. "You could have shelved them."

"I don't know your system."

"Well, you could help."

Arthur sighed, retrieving half the stack and walking beside him to the library where Merlin set the books on a table and began to reshelve them a few at a time. When he finished, he saw Arthur had laid his arms on the table, resting his forehead on them.

"Arthur?"

His friend grunted.

"This is stupid." His eyes glowed, producing his younger form, the one he thought most likely to break down Arthur's defesnses.

Arthur glanced up, so used to his change, he didn't even acknowledge it. "What?"

"This." Merlin motioned at him. "The way you're brooding."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm _not_."

"I know you, and you are!"

Arthur was silent.

"If this is all because of these books, they're just stories. Silly nonsense people have made up about us."

"But they believe it."

"Not really. It's just fiction they like to read and make movies about."

"Movies?"

Merlin could have smacked his forehead. "Something else modern. Never mind. The point is, they don't know you, and all that stuff, it's just play. So don't let them bother you."

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "How can I not? You tell me I'm some prophetic figure meant to unite Albion, whatever that means, but people won't even know me. They think I'm _that_ ," he gestured towards the books.

Merlin approached him, leaning over the table to met his eyes. "We'll show them who you really are."

"That will be even worse," Arthur groused. "A man who trusted the wrong people most of the time, got hundreds killed for believing magic evil, and couldn't even figure out his own birth was tainted."

"Argh!" Merlin intoned, throwing his hands up in the air. "This is just like when you became king."

"Huh?"

"You were too hard on yourself then just like now, doubting yourself at every turn, listening to Agravaine or Tristan or the council."

"Instead of the one friend who'd faithfully stood by my side for years," Arthur muttered.

"I don't care about that," Merlin returned, exasperated. "You put too much weight on yourself, worrying if you were good enough. You were and you are. You are you, Arthur, and that's enough."

Arthur bent his head, studying his fingers.

Merlin rounded the table and grasped his arm, pulling him up.

"What..."

"I have something to show you." He led Arthur to a door at the end of a long hall. His eyes glowed for a moment as it unlocked. "Just to be clear, I wasn't hiding anything. I was saving it for when it was time."

Arthur cocked his head and looked wary. Merlin descended a flight of stairs, Arthur following. When the warlock reached bottom, he spoke and candles all around the room flooded the area with light.

* * *

Arthur peered into the dark, but when Merlin's spell lit the whole area in candlelight, he couldn't suppress a gasp. The area glittered in gold and silver and twinkling jewels reflecting the flickering flames. "The vaults. You saved it all?"

"What I could." Merlin passed into one aisle of multiple, and Arthur trailed him dumbly, the treasures he scanned at once familiar and foreign; he had never thought to see them again. "You have a connection to this land, Arthur. This was and is all yours like your ancestors before you. Others may be living here now, but that does not diminish who you are." Merlin stopped, then turned and scooted sideways to reveal a column draped in red velvet. Arthur could hardly breathe.

Merlin stared at him as if gauging his reaction. A crown rested upon the fabric, as pristine as the last time Arthur had worn it, a thick brass ring studded with eight-pointed stars and topped with eight fleur-de-lis, together representative of the right to rule Camelot's lands. How many before him had borne it, he couldn't recall. Merlin reached out to pick it up. Arthur touched his arm to stay him. "Leave it. I'm not a king anymore."

Merlin hesitated, but spoke even so. "Once and future means it's always yours."

"Maybe...but I won't wear it today. It's not time." He couldn't articulate why he felt such a thing and was relieved when Merlin acquiesced, drawing back.

Arthur turned to scan the room. "These are just relics now."

"They aren't," Merlin protested. "They're evidence of who you are. You were meant to be born, to rule, to achieve peace. Those who came after built on your foundation, continuing what you began, a Golden Age. None of that would have happened without you."

"Or you." Arthur glanced at his friend.

"I had my part to play," Merlin admitted as he stepped over to a side shelf and picked up a cloth sleeve. "I didn't know when to give this to you, but I think you need to hear it."

Arthur creased his brow as he accepted it. " _Hear_ it?"

"It's your son."

"My son?"

"Carwyn tasked me to find a way for you to hear him. It was tricky and difficult, but we worked out the spell." Merlin moved back to the stairs. "I'll leave you to it."

Arthur listened to Merlin's footsteps depart. He found a small golden stool and sat. He held the sleeve in his hand for a moment, then pulled loose its drawstring. A translucent rod fell into his hand, glowing with a white light when it touched his palm.

"Father, if you can hear me, it means you've discovered my message." Arthur almost dropped the rod, but clutched it tightly just in time. "Though I hope it actually means Merlin has given it to you," his son's voice continued. "He claims he's immortal after all." He laughed, and Arthur heard Gwen in the sound. An intake of breath, and the voice continued more soberly. "I've grown up without you, but I don't want you to feel guilty about that. Merlin's seen to me. He's been a good substitute. I used to think I only needed him as my guardian, but when I became a father myself, I found I missed you. I wondered what words you might say to me, what experiences you would share, what wisdom you'd impart. Reigning isn't easy."

A lump cut off Arthur's ability to swallow.

"Mother was perfect. People loved her. So don't think I resent you leaving, but it would have been good to have you here. Merlin says some day you'll return. I believe it. I wish I could be there to meet you, but since I can't, I asked Merlin to find someway for you to hear from me.

"People tell stories about you. Some of them are true and some are false. Merlin keeps me grounded. He says you were often a prat...like I can be." Another chuckle. "You left a legacy; you inspire us. Your people still love you and credit you with our salvation and peace. I don't know why you haven't come back yet, but Merlin says you'll have to be desperately needed. So when you do return, I guess you'll be needed there more than you ever could be here.

"What I mean to say is I understand why I couldn't have you, and it's all right. I love our people as much as you did. Someday they'll need you again. Merlin thinks it will be a very long time. Otherwise, he wouldn't need to live so long. I'll be with you in spirit when the time comes. All of us will. We trust you to preserve Albion.

"Well, I really can't say much else. Just know the kingdom is safe. You have grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They love you without having seen you. You make them good people. They look up to you.

"I love you, father. I can't help but do so when Merlin tells me about you. So I'll just say thank you, and farewell until you come back."

The glow faded and the voice hushed. Arthur couldn't open his eyes; he didn't even care about his damp cheeks.

* * *

Merlin waited in the library, slumped in his easy chair, head bowed, resting on his folded hands, elbows propped on the armrests. He finally heard footsteps. He raised his head. Arthur's eyes were reddened. He lowered himself to the bed. He didn't speak for several moments, then, "It's a lot better than a story about Bruta."

Merlin smiled softly.

Arthur's jaw firmed. "I can do it for him. For you."

"For all Albion."

Arthur nodded. Merlin rose, then went to one knee in front of him. "You are king, my lord, and that cannot be taken from you."

Arthur reached out to place a hand on Merlin's left shoulder. "Let's hope they accept me as willingly as my most faithful servant."

Merlin returned the gesture, his hand raising to clasp Arthur's left shoulder. "If they won't, then maybe a little magic can convince them."

Arthur smiled and Merlin grinned.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A shout out to PinkCookie11 for the idea to have Arthur's son talk to him through a recorded voice!

I know these last chapters have been similar in theme, Arthur trying to puzzle out his part in this new world. I figure he has the toughest row to hoe coming back to a modern world. But, I promise the next chapter will be more about Merlin. Arthur will get another look into what Merlin's been doing without him.


	7. Descendants

Merlin had awakened to the sound of raindrops splashing the library windows. He relaxed into the morning pitter-patter, smiling to himself. These last weeks had been so very good. Arthur hearing Carwyn had made a world of difference. His king had regained determination and strength of heart. They'd trained together and taken numerous hikes around his property, talking, sharing, even hunting a little, small game Merlin allowed. The years had seemed to melt away, and Merlin gloried in doing things they used to, but this time fully known to each other. It was a dream come true.

"Up, lazy daisy."

Merlin's gaze shifted to the woman standing at the end of his bed, a tray in her hands. "Marg."

"You always sleep too late on rainy days," his gray haired housekeeper complained.

"And you always think that means I need breakfast in bed."

"I've done it all these years. Why stop?"

Merlin smiled again as she set the tray on a low table near the bed, then occupied his easy chair. As he picked up some buttered toast, Marg spoke.

"He's been good for you."

Merlin's eyes drifted over to her.

"Ever since I've known you, something has been missing. It was him."

Merlin chewed and ruminated. He'd lived while Arthur had been gone, enjoyed so much of his life, and yet, even in those moments an emptiness remained somewhere in his soul, as if he wasn't fully present. He'd catch himself staring into nothing, reliving memories of Arthur. One would think after fifteen hundred years his remembrances of his friend and king would have dulled, but they persisted, constant and fresh, sustaining his longing for Arthur's return.

"I think you're right," Merlin agreed, cracking an egg.

"Everything will change soon."

Merlin cocked his head at Marg. "You sense something?"

Marg shook her head. "Nothing. But he's back and you're even better. Anyone who knew you could tell the wind's changing direction."

Merlin spooned egg into his mouth. "Your father would be proud of you."

Marg's intuitive eyes lowered to her flowered dress. "He was. I always knew."

"He wished he could have done more."

Marg lifted her head to meet his eyes again. "He did all he was meant to. So did you." She stood, pacing to one of the windows. "Rain. Both of you will be stuck inside today."

Merlin huffed. "Rain never stopped Arthur from hunting."

" _More_ hunting?"

"I won't let him. He should study."

"He's fairly good now. Brave enough to talk to me."

Merlin palmed a bowl of fruit. "How's that feel for you? Strange?"

"We haven't said much," Marg murmured as she continued to stare out the window. "Exchanged pleasantries."

"I'm surprised you haven't told him."

"I thought you wouldn't want me to."

"I wouldn't command you not to."

"But you wouldn't like it either. It would be too much for him, maybe."

Merlin swallowed strawberry. "I trust your discretion, but it's also not my secret to tell. Though it might be best I'm present when you let him in on it."

"Oh no."

Merlin had just popped a berry in his mouth and continued to munch as he looked up. "You don't want me there?"

Marg turned. "That's not what I'm referring to." She pointed. "Look who's here." Merlin stood up, ambling over to the window to behold a group of six people and a young boy headed towards the mansion.

"They didn't think to warn me?" He dashed to the tray, dropped his bowl on it, and ran to the door, stopping to look back at her. "They can't know about him. Not yet. Do something."

Marg held up helpless hands. "Lock him in his room?"

"Marg!"

"I'll handle it. Go."

Merlin rushed out the door.

* * *

Arthur heard shuffling in his room and groaned. Yesterday he'd spent all day outdoors with Merlin who had quizzed him up and down his lands about language. He was pretty proud of himself when Merlin praised how fast he'd advanced, though he tried not to show it. He'd gone to bed late and tired, and when he'd woken in the middle of the night to rain, presumed Merlin would appear later than usual as he drifted off again.

"Merlin. Get out." He worked to sound grumpy, but in point of fact, he'd been glad more than once that Merlin maintained a similar schedule to the one they had followed in Camelot, waking him instead of letting him laze about.

"Master Merlin is not here."

Arthur shot up in bed at the wrinkled and feminine voice. The housekeeper stood at his table, plump and smiling and letting her eyes rove over him. Arthur became suddenly aware he wasn't wearing even a sleeping shirt. He pulled the sheet up. "Where is he?" he snapped a little too rudely.

"Busy," Marg answered. "Here's your breakfast. And mine."

"Yours?"

"I'm going to breakfast with you." She spoke very slowly, as if she assumed he would have a hard time catching her every word. Annoyance at her speaking to him like a child quickly resolved into gratefulness for the courtesy. He was doing well, but understanding her was harder than Merlin.

"Eh..." He didn't manage the "why" before she continued.

"You can practice."

Oh. So that's why. Merlin was probably downstairs right now grinning at the fact he'd sicced the housekeeper on him to make him talk to someone else.

Marg strode across the room to his wardrobe. "What would you like today?"

"I...just...Merlin picks most of the time."

"You look good in red."

Arthur's cheeks flushed. Was it anywhere near appropriate for an older woman to notice such things? Marg turned, holding a pair of trousers and his red shirt. "Well, get on with it," she encouraged.

Arthur jumped up and snatched the clothing out of her hands to slide in behind the dressing screen. When he returned, she was sitting at the table, eating her own meal, back straight, prim and proper. He sat down stiffly instead of slumping as usual, feeling out of place and under some kind of scrutiny in her presence.

For a long while, silence reigned. Arthur waited for her to initiate, not yet accustomed to speaking first in a language he had so recently gotten a handle on. After a time, the silence grated on him, and the question he had first thought to ask found itself on his lips. "You call Merlin 'master'?"

She set her spoon down, swallowed, then smiled. "He hates it."

Arthur smiled back, unsurprised. "Why?"

Marg shifted back and forth in her chair. "He doesn't like me acting like a servant. He's always been the one to serve."

Merlin's words before he'd died came back to him: _Some men are born to plow fields, some live to be great physicians, others to be great kings. Me, I was born to serve you, Arthur. And I'm proud of that. And I wouldn't change a thing._ He was rendered momentarily speechless, fighting a war of emotion with his eyes, blinking to maintain control. "I meant why do you call him 'master' if he hates it."

"I was afraid you meant that."

Arthur's brow furrowed.

"It's habit. I've been with him for a long time."

"How long?"

"Fifty-four years."

Arthur regarded her critically as he chewed some ham. He estimated her age to be in the sixties, so she would have met Merlin as a youth. She had looked back down at her plate, now mostly empty. He read her uncomfortable body language, but still felt intensely curious and wanted to push her for more. He jarringly realized he knew almost nothing about Merlin's life without him except for the pictures on the wall in the library that served as memorials to the people Merlin had loved dearest in his long lifetime.

He opened his mouth to ask for more explanation when a clatter filtered down the hallway. He turned an alarmed gaze to the doorway, while Marg rose to her feet, speaking sharply. "I'll see to it. Stay here."

She bolted to the doorway, but something about her insistence and a hint of fear in it drew him to his feet. He peered down the hall to see her rush into the armory. He followed and was in earshot to catch a harsh whisper.

"You little imp! You shouldn't be here."

"Merlin let me before."

"Not today. Get back down there."

A boy about eight years old was shoved out the door, and when he saw Arthur, he jumped, but recovered quickly and inquired, "You new?"

Arthur replied as Marg stepped out behind the boy with a distraught expression. "Yes."

"Emrys's going to teach you?"

"He...already is."

"What can you do?"

Marg pushed the boy in the back. "Down. Now."

The boy shrugged away from her, cupping his hands and smirking. His eyes flared gold and even though Arthur had seen it enough now on Merlin, years fearing magic caused him to step back. A light shined from the boy's hands, and then shifted to form a dragon floating in the air above his palms.

Another memory came back full force―himself wounded, Merlin kneeling next to him, crying in such earnest as he'd never seen before, confessing himself a sorcerer, then proving it by summoning a dragon out of fire. It occurred to Arthur then it had been a beautiful thing to do, very Merlin, but he'd been too afraid to appreciate it at the time.

"Stop showing off. Go to the kitchen. I have something for you."

The dragon dissipated and the boy waved before opening the door and taking the stairs. Arthur looked at Marg. "Who was that?" He heard more voices below. "Are there more people here?"

Marg grasped his arm, the first physical contact they had made and he felt desperation in it. "You cannot go down there. It isn't time. Come." She pulled him back to his room, but he wiggled out of her grasp when they got there and marched away from her.

"What is going on?"

Marg filled the doorway as if to prevent him moving past her.

"Did Merlin tell you to hide this from me? We said no secrets."

Marg stared at him, unmoving. Arthur thought she looked rather fierce and unyielding for an elderly woman. "It would complicate matters."

Arthur didn't quite comprehend the meaning of the terms. Maybe he hadn't learned them yet. "It would what?"

Marg's eyes lifted up to the left as she searched for words. "It would make a mess."

Arthur let out a frustrated breath and stepped up to her. "I want to go downstairs."

Marg pointed at the table. "Sit."

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest.

"Sit. I'll show you." Her demeanor had morphed from antagonism to nervousness. Arthur saw the trepidation in her eyes and wondered if he was in danger. He moved back to the table and slipped down into his seat once more.

Marg tramped across the room to his desk, opened a drawer, and retrieved a piece of parchment. She returned, sliding his plate out of the way to set the blank parchment before him. "I don't know how else to explain. Too many words otherwise." She sounded apologetic. She placed the fingertips of her right hand on the parchment, and Arthur's eyes rounded as inky lines poured out from them, twisting and turning. He looked up at her eyes aflame like the boy's. She had _magic_.

Disconcerted, he concentrated on the parchment. The lines pouring forth were connecting, forming a picture of an empty room save for a bed on one side, but an odd one. It had wheels. A young man appeared on it, restrained across his chest and manacled at the wrists and ankles as well. Arthur spoke breathlessly. "Merlin?"

Marg lifted her hand away and muttered words Arthur had come to recognize as the language of magic. The drawing she had created glowed. She took Arthur's hand gently into her smooth, thin-skinned one and placed it palm down onto the picture. Arthur gasped.

His bedroom disappeared, replaced by the room in the picture, not a drawing, but a stark reality, severely white and sterile. He blinked at a harsh light glaring from above, twisting his head to view Merlin on the other side of the room. Glancing down, he could see wheels below and guessed he rested on a bed like his friend. Merlin suddenly seized and groaned and bit his lip so hard a trickle of blood appeared. Arthur tried to call out to him but couldn't form words. His friend went still. What was this?

Then slowly, the buckles on Merlin's restraints undid themselves, and he struggled to sit up. He was clothed in a single piece of white linen that exposed most of his arms and reached to his knees. He looked haggard and worn, and he wiped at his jaw where the blood had dripped. He made to stand and crashed to his knees. Arthur meant to get up and help, but found he couldn't move. He raised his head to see himself restrained as Merlin had been. Helplessness and panic rushed through him.

Merlin breathed in and out several times, whispered to himself, and then stood. He stumbled over to Arthur and raised a shaking hand, smoothing his hair. "Margaret?" Arthur felt his head nod and tears streak his cheeks. Merlin's eyes reflected tears as well. "I'm going to get you out of here. Your father sent me. You can trust me."

Merlin's eyes glowed, and all the restraints popped free at once. Merlin took Arthur's forearm to help him stand. When he was off the bed, Merlin's arm became iron wrapped around his middle. "Come on." They staggered to a door. The vision faded.

Arthur blinked as he found himself staring at the drawing on the parchment again, eyes readjusting to the lower level of light. He panted several breaths, then looked up at Marg observing him warily. "That...that was _you_?"

Marg nodded. "I was fifteen. He saved me. He saved many of us. For our sake and yours, do not leave your room." She picked up her plate and left Arthur's as he hadn't finished. When Arthur heard the hallway door shut, he sank into his seat. What _had_ Merlin been doing all these years without him?

* * *

Merlin exited the parlor. He'd been acting as nonchalant as possible as he explained his absence from the conclave. He trusted those who had come to see him, but even so, believed Arthur was safest if no one knew of his existence. His worry quickened when Marg showed up in the doorway, brows meeting in frustration, beckoning him with one finger.

"You need to talk to someone," she whispered and tromped to the kitchen. He followed her inside where a boy sat eating her scrumptious pudding. "Toby made it upstairs. He saw someone."

Merlin's heart dropped, and he slid into the seat next to the boy. "Toby."

"Yeah?" Toby licked at his spoon.

"The man you saw, he's important. And special."

"Really? Who is he?"

"I can't tell you, and you can't tell anyone you saw him."

Toby dropped the spoon. "He's a secret."

Merlin nodded.

"Is he powerful?"

Merlin tilted his head. "In a way."

Toby smiled. "I can keep secrets."

Merlin ruffled his hair. "Good boy. It's time to go. We've finished."

Toby stood and Merlin shepherded him out into the hall where the others had gathered. He bid them farewell and his shoulders collapsed in immediate relief when he shut the door. Then he turned to discover Arthur at the bottom of the stairs, piercing him with a furious gaze.

"Sorry I wasn't there when you woke," Merlin apologized, lamely.

Arthur didn't answer, but strode up to him, holding a parchment with both hands and about shoving it in Merlin's face. Oh.

"Why did she show you this?" Merlin whispered.

"The boy you just sent out the door came upstairs. He was in the armory."

Merlin chastised himself. He hadn't caught it when Toby had slipped away. The boy was too good.

"And I heard voices and your housekeeper wouldn't let me go downstairs. And then she does this." Merlin took the parchment in both hands, moving into the parlor to sit on a settee. Arthur stood on the other side of the room, arms crossed over his chest.

Merlin sighed. He'd known sometime Arthur would start inquiring into his past, he'd just been too afraid to share it, fearing telling Arthur his story would somehow awaken destiny once more and snatch these glorious days away from him.

Merlin ran a hand over his white beard. "I had to rescue her. Her father asked me to look for her. He'd always feared someone would figure out she had magic." Merlin paused to look at Arthur who stared back and motioned with a hand.

"Go on. I can tell there's more."

"Magic wasn't legal for very long," Merlin plunged on bitterly. "In Camelot for a time, and other places, but people are scared of power they can't control and over time, those of us who had it were feared once more." Merlin put a hand to his forehead. "You don't know how many were killed." His voice lowered at images and sensations recalled. "How many times I was killed."

Arthur unfolded his arms. "What?"

Merlin didn't meet his eyes. "Our enemies thought so anyway. I didn't dare use magic and confirm their fears so they'd hurt more of us. I protected those I could. We joined together, strength in numbers, and I became a sort of leader. And whenever we were caught...I gave myself up so they could flee." Merlin fixed Arthur with a resigned gaze. "I _am_ immortal."

And Arthur suddenly understood, Merlin saw, as a hand went to his mouth, his eyes widened. "What things did they do to you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"What. Things."

Merlin swallowed hard. "Burning, drowning, sometimes torture. I don't really want to remember it." Arthur found a seat across from Merlin on a padded stool. "I wasn't captured often, and even then I escaped most of the time. I'm all right, Arthur."

Arthur cleared his throat. "Margaret?"

"I suppose it was good that people started to deny the existence of magic altogether. The hunts disappeared and we lived in peace. But it also meant we couldn't be who we are openly." Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. "To most people now, we can't exist. They only trust what they can prove with experimentation. They don't believe in a world outside of matter. We don't fit their expectations and so, when they find us, they try to explain us away." Merlin glanced at Arthur who looked horrified. He smiled and joked to loosen the tension, "At least your father acknowledged magic was real."

Arthur gestured at the drawing in Merlin's lap. "That, then. Is that what they did to you and her because of magic?"

Merlin huffed a cynical laugh. "It doesn't take much. Tell them you can do things with your mind, that you have abilities beyond human comprehension. Now they pour medicines down your throat to forget. Back then, it was ECT. Lightning shot through your brain to make you better."

Arthur's voice broke. "Merlin."

"I'm okay. So is Marg. Her father came to me. She'd run away and he wanted me to find her. She'd been thrown into that place, and I went in to get her out. It didn't go as I'd planned. Got caught and questioned and subjected to ECT. It rattled my magic, but couldn't stop me. I got her out of there."

"And she's been with you since then?"

"Her father was dying. He asked me to take her with me and protect her. So I did."

"You're like her father."

"Mentor. Teacher. It was deja vu." Merlin chuckled, then caught Arthur looking at him questioningly. Oh. Well, he had to know sometime, but Merlin still wasn't sure what it might do to him. He stood and walked to the entryway, calling out. "Margaret?"

Footsteps soon sounded and the woman passed inside. "I think it's time to tell him," Merlin said. A smile lit Margaret's face. "You want to?"

"You."

Merlin turned back to his king. "You know you and I are bonded."

Arthur nodded slowly.

"You remember when I saved your son, I gave him some of my magic unintentionally." Arthur nodded again.

"Well, it stuck around. It's lost its strength with each generation, but it's still there and because it's there, when I met any of your descendants, I sensed it."

Arthur's mouth had gone dry and his voice came out hoarse. "Descendants?"

"I believe Margaret's the last. All other lines have died out. You're her great-grandfather times who knows how many, Arthur."

Arthur looked to Marg and Merlin smiled to see tears in her eyes. She rarely let emotion show like that, not unless she was with him. Arthur slowly stood. He walked up to her, staring into her eyes, then held out his hand. She took it. He bent down to kiss it. "My lady, then."

Marg laughed and the tension in the room broke. "You don't have to call me that."

"You have royal blood. My own. I will."

Marg looked at Merlin. "Don't know if I can get used to that...Master."

Merlin groaned.

* * *

Arthur spent the rest of the day talking to Margaret, fascinated with her history and that of those who came before her. Her family was a spiritual lot, willing to see beyond the physical realm, and accepted their magic as a gift, but recognized the importance of secreting it from those who feared it. Then Merlin came along, happenstance bringing him into contact with her father, and the Pendragon blood was obvious to him. He became a fast friend of her father's. She had run away the year before, a youth confused about magic and what it meant for her. She regretted lashing out at her father and taking off, in her naivety thinking striking out on her own would solve all her problems. After her rescue, she spent her days at Merlin's side, learning the ins and outs of magic.

When Arthur prepared for bed, he ruminated, head swimming, but pleased. It hadn't even occurred to him he'd have descendants in this modern world, but of course, it was only logical. And Marg was such a good woman, too. He was more than proud, beaming like a grandfather who'd just met his first infant grandchild. He was puckering his lips to blow out the candle when Merlin appeared in the doorway.

"I wish you'd told me sooner," Arthur chastised lightly.

Merlin in his younger form interpreted his statement as an invitation to enter and wandered to the bed, leaning against one of the bedposts. "I thought it might scare you."

"You thought _I'd_ be scared?"

Merlin chuckled. "I wanted you and her to get to know each other before I sprung it on you. Is that better?"

"Mm," Arthur assented, laying back and yawning. "So were those other people that were here today people you've rescued?"

"No."

"Then who were they?"

Merlin worried his lip. "I might still be the leader of an organization. Well, not anymore. Adviser only. I gave over direct leadership when you showed up."

Arthur sat back up. "You're...I thought...you'd just traveled sometimes and lived here. Recently anyway."

Merlin laughed and rubbed at his eyes. "I've rarely just sat around waiting for you."

"Maybe not, but...it's just...it seems something you should mention that you're involved in some secret sorcerers alliance."

Merlin lowered his hand. "Arthur, I have something to tell you. I'm involved in some secret sorcerers alliance."

Arthur reached for a pillow, but Merlin raised both hands. "I'm old. Remember?"

"Not right now," Arthur pointed out, but let the pillow drop. "So what does your little group do?"

"Support each other. Aid those who discover their magic. Try to live good lives amongst a people that would be terrified of us if they knew."

Arthur's heart sank. "So you're right back where you used to be."

Merlin pushed off the bedpost. " _I'm_ not. Because you know and you accept me. That's all I ever needed."

Arthur replayed Marg's memory, Merlin seizing and shaking, having been essentially tortured. A different way maybe, but a possibly similar result if he'd ever been caught in Camelot. "You risked everything coming to Camelot and even so, vowed to be my servant until the day you died." Merlin nodded. Arthur stood and held out his arm. Merlin cocked his head, but gripped his wrist. Arthur curled his own fingers around Merlin's. "It's my turn. I vow to protect you and walk beside you until the day I die."

Merlin coughed, letting go and wiping at his eyes. "You don't have―"

"I do, Merlin. I do."

Merlin waved at the bed without looking at him. "Go to bed."

Arthur smiled, slipping inside the sheets. As Merlin walked away, he queried a sudden thought. "Do you have any descendants?"

Merlin paused, not looking back. "Maybe."

" _Mer_ lin."

"You've already met one."

"The boy?"

"Huh?"

"The one that wandered away during your advisory meeting."

"No. Not him. A woman."

Arthur thought back. He only knew... "Marg is related to both of us?"

Merlin snickered. "No, but that would be interesting." He looked back over his shoulder.

And then it hit Arthur⸻the only other modern person he'd come into contact with. "The girl at the lake."

"Elaine."

"Does she know?"

Merlin shook his head. "And I don't intend her to. It's not exactly good to be related to the warlock Emrys."

"Why?"

Merlin headed to the doorway. "Can _you_ imagine living up to to the greatest sorcerer ever to walk the earth?"

Arthur laughed loudly. "What about the legendary King Arthur?"

"People like me better."

"The legends aren't named after you!" Arthur shouted.

Merlin guffawed in the hallway, and if he said something back, it was swallowed up by the closing of the hallway door.


	8. Shared Burden

Arthur blew out a huge, put upon sigh as he flipped a page in the book he was reading. His brain was dying, stretched thin by too much information and too many nonsensical theories.

"Philosophy still?"

Arthur's eyes swiveled to the woman cutting fruit on a counter across from the table he occupied. "He insists on it."

Marg snickered. "At least your language has improved enough to read it."

"This one's his," Arthur noted, tapping on a tome Merlin had penned himself especially for his king. "But it doesn't help. I still have to read each sentence ten times before it even makes a hint of sense."

Marg approached, setting a bowl of fruit salad in front of him. "Between you and me, I think philosophy's mostly over-thinking."

"You studied it?" Arthur asked, picking up the bowl and spooning a delicious combination of berries and apples into his mouth.

"Only because Merlin thought I should know something of it. He thinks many of the philosophers grasped aspects of magic and its importance but without calling it what it is."

Arthur rubbed at his eyes with one hand. "I'm going blind over it." He glared at the book and slammed it shut. "I never excelled at study. Merlin's always possessed more wisdom than I'll ever have."

Marg smiled and chortled. Arthur looked at her sharply, annoyed she'd laugh at his expense. She reached across and grasped his hand not holding a spoon. "You balance him."

Arthur stared at her for a moment, spooning another bite into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed. "Two sides of the coin again."

Marg nodded and leaned back, letting go. "He analyzes so much. Tries to come up with answers and explanations. I think he's had too much time to explore and wrestle some sense out of this maddening, messed up world."

Arthur smiled to himself. Well, if he'd been fated to live through the ages, he might have needed to make it all work out somehow, too. Merlin had always been on about destiny anyway. After all these years, maybe he just wanted a rational explanation for his forced immortality.

"You have this knack for charging right to the heart of a matter without needing any of that mumbo jumbo." Marg waved a hand at the book. "You don't need to sift through evidence and proof and logic. Your heart knows what is right and acts on it."

Heat bloomed in Arthur's cheeks at the unexpected extolling of his ways. Truth was, all this study made him feel overwhelmed and less capable. He didn't doubt there was a purpose for him; Merlin championing such was enough for him. But the present people of Albion lived completely different lives from his own. He would have to understand and act on fifteen hundred years of knowledge, become one of them to accomplish whatever destiny required of him.

Arthur sighed again and locked eyes with Marg. "These are my people. Albion isn't what I used to know, but it's the same land and I have to help them or defend them or something..." He laid a palm on the book. "Still, I don't think I'm ever going to truly comprehend them." He stood, slumping through the door with the book clutched to his breast, deciding to give up for the time being and rest his addled brain.

* * *

Merlin looked over when the door to his menagerie creaked open.

"Marg! Come see."

His faithful protégée sauntered to his side, peering down into an aquarium. "It's grown"

Merlin nodded eagerly. "And you can see the embryo now." He studied the round egg about the size of an apple and its foggy, translucent white color that provided a window into the development of the creature.

"So you think it will live?"

"I hope so. Can you imagine? Aithusa won't be the only dragon left anymore."

Marg nodded. "Good for her. She deserves it. But will she be as happy with a sea dragon?"

Merlin smiled. "I think she'd be happy with any dragon. Besides, all my research indicates it can live in the lake."

"Speaking of research..."

Merlin had crouched down, marveling at the dragon fetus. It jerked rhythmically, its heart already pumping blood. _Survive, little one. You can. You must._ He didn't know if his words could be heard, but maybe, just maybe his dragonlord ability could be sensed even now.

A sorcerer from the Conclave had come upon the egg in the Scottish Highlands, surprised when the call of magic guided him to a small pond. He brought it back for Merlin's evaluation and both of them were thrilled when they figured out what it was. Apparently, it had lain dormant without growth until someone came along who possessed the power to awaken it. Merlin wondered if a dragonlord had hidden it there to protect it just like Ashkanar had Aithusa's egg.

"Um hm," Merlin replied absently to Marg.

"I want to talk to you about Arthur."

"Arthur?" Merlin questioned, looking up and straightening.

"He needs to leave this house." Marg's expression had tightened, revealing the look she displayed when she knew she was right, but expected an argument.

"Another hunt? I suppose we could. It's getting colder these days."

"I mean beyond the wards. Take him to town."

Merlin's heart skipped a beat. "It's not time," he returned quickly and definitively.

"How long will you keep him cooped up here?"

"Marg―"

"I know. You fear what will happen, but you're ignoring what staying here is doing to him. He's not like you. He's not meant to sit around and stagnate."

Merlin took offense. "I don't stagnate."

Marg huffed. "All right, you travel. You learn. But you sit down with a book and get lost for hours. Arthur isn't like that. He's not you."

Merlin narrowed his eyes. Maybe he shouldn't have let Marg reveal her connection to Arthur. Those two had become thick as thieves. "Did he put you up to this?"

"No!" Marg declared in exasperation. She put a hand on his arm. "He's wearing. He needs to see the people he's come back for. Give him a reason to preserve in his studies."

Merlin clenched his jaw. He'd tried to avoid this kind of thing, resisting Arthur's further destiny. Even though he'd vowed to serve him throughout, he wasn't ready for it. What if another Camlann lurked on the horizon, ready to pounce and lead Arthur to a final doom?

Marg's grip on his arm strengthened when he said nothing. "You've waited for this your entire life, planned for his return. Has it all been a waste?"

Merlin bit his cheek, angry because she was completely and utterly right. "It might frighten him," he mumbled.

"Even if it does, he has to meet his people sometime. He has to see Albion."

Merlin concentrated on the dragon egg. He thought ahead several months, imagining its development to its emergence when he named it. It would take its place in a world that assumed its existence myth and if ever exposed, might find itself feared. Arthur―did he dare let the world get its hooks into his cherished friend? But if he didn't, what destiny might be lost by his cowardice?

* * *

Merlin peeked into Arthur's room to find him standing on the far side staring at the portrait of Gwen surrounded by his descendants. He cleared his throat and Arthur turned, casually rubbing at his eyes as if something irritated them.

"I haven't finished it yet." He gestured at the book abandoned on the table.

Merlin smiled and stepped inside, considering the philosophical tome. "You hate it."

Arthur crossed his arms as he came towards him. "It has... _some_ good ideas."

Merlin ran an eye over his friend, his taut shoulders, worn eyes, _subdued_ expression. He hadn't paid enough attention. He'd been all too happy to keep Arthur his he'd missed his friend's deterioration. No more. "I'd like to go out this afternoon."

Arthur walked away from him, pacing like a caged animal. "I'm not really in the mood for a hunt or a hike."

"To town."

Arthur turned on his heel, eyes wide in disbelief. "I thought you didn't want me going beyond the wards."

Merlin shrugged.

"Why now then?"

"You have to meet your people some time."

Arthur looked...there was no word for it but scared and it bothered Merlin. He'd neglected Arthur's nature, instructing him with books when he should have been giving him experience. He sighed and sat down at Arthur's table, opening a different book he'd brought. "And I'm going to prepare you."

Arthur wandered over. "That's you." It was a photo album, and unlike the memorial wall in the library, it contained photographs taken in mundane settings rather than staged portraits.

"It's one of my most recent ones," Merlin explained.

"What's that?" Arthur pointed at one photograph where Merlin stood next to a contraption, chest puffed out proudly.

Merlin grinned. "First motor I owned." At Arthur's raised eyebrow, he explained further. "Transportation. Like a horse, but it's a machine."

Arthur slipped into a seat next to him at the table. "Tell me what I need to know."

* * *

"We're almost there."

"You don't have to be worry, Merlin."

"I'm _fine_."

"That's why I can't feel my arm anymore." Arthur wiggled his arm and Merlin released him.

"It's only a simple visit," a voice behind them spoke up, Marg with a couple bags dangling from her forearm. "And about time, too. I'll visit the grocers and bakery."

When they reached the town, Arthur worked hard to school his features, appear as if he'd been traipsing around modern villages every day of his life. Unfortunately, it was one thing to see them in Merlin's photographs and quite another to behold them in reality. First, there was the noise, a foreign sensation when it wasn't simply the chatting of people and cries of animals, but punctuated by automobiles and other machines he couldn't identify. Then there were the people themselves who wore strange clothing, some of it downright indecent. And the buildings, odd things made with brick and mortar. Finally there were little changes that unnerved him―paved roads, wire fences, tiled roofs, storefront windows, a clanging clock, and more.

When they stopped for Marg to shop at the bakery, he felt suddenly woozy, all the weight of this new world and his inadequacy to face it hitting him at once. He clenched his teeth. He was King Arthur. He'd faced down dragons and armies of the dead and evil sorcerers intent on his death. One little town couldn't do this to him. It wouldn't.

"Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"You're a little pale."

Arthur took a deep breath. "It's just a lot to take in at once."

Merlin scanned his eyes and seemed panicked. "I shouldn't have let you out."

Arthur snorted. "You make me sound like a newborn pup confined in a kennel."

"You weren't ready. This was a stupid idea." Merlin's hand pressed against his forehead, searching for fever, maybe? Arthur swiped it away.

"Stop mothering me!"

"You look like you're about to fall over."

"I'm not."

Marg emerged. "Well, let's... What's wrong with you?" Her eyes ran up and down Arthur.

Arthur threw up his hands. "Nothing! Let's move on." He made to step ahead, then faltered, knees going weak. He put a hand out to brace himself against a wall.

Merlin wrapped on arm around his shoulders. "We're going back."

"No," Arthur growled, trying to shove him away.

"Oh heavens," a voice exclaimed.

Arthur glanced up at its familiarity and found himself meeting the green eyes of Merlin's great-great-great whatever grand-daughter, Elaine.

"Can I help?" she asked.

"No," Merlin muttered, and then she was scrutinizing him.

"Wait. I gave you a lift months ago."

Arthur managed a smirk at Merlin's chagrined expression at being remembered.

"You live around here?"

"Outside of town," Merlin grumbled.

"And I saw _you_...at the lake." She'd looked to Arthur whose cheeks reddened remembering their last encounter when he'd hastened away from her in turmoil.

"He's my grandson," Merlin explained quickly.

"We should take him back home," Marg interjected. Elaine looked at her.

"My housekeeper," Merlin said.

"My home is near. You're welcome."

"No, we don't want to impose," Merlin insisted.

"Really," Elaine said, smiling in a way Arthur thought rather Merlin-like. "It's no imposition." She grasped Arthur's arm to help him along, tugging him forwards.

* * *

Arthur slowly sipped a cup of hot tea and steadied his breathing. He had to admit resting in an overstuffed easy chair with half a crumpet on a side table, and this delicious brew in his hands, made him feel a lot better.

Elaine had been trying to carry on a conversation, but Merlin's answers were clipped and grouchy. She must think him a crotchety curmudgeon. Marg responded more tactfully and in more detail, though careful not to reveal anything indicating exactly who they were.

Arthur watched Merlin with some amusement. The warlock had seemed so put together since he'd returned, in control and in charge, their positions from yesteryear such a reversal it was satisfactory watching him struggle to handle the current situation.

"And you," Elaine indicated him, tilting her head a little and smiling. "What's your name?"

Merlin's gaze snapped to him in warning.

"Eh...Leon."

"Are you feeling better?"

Arthur nodded but before she could ask anything else he interrupted. "You had a book on King Arthur when I first met you."

"Oh. Yes. I was looking over some details for my thesis."

Merlin's eyes were about popping out of his head. Arthur plunged ahead anyway.

"Do you have any more?"

"In the library." She pointed with a finger. "If my father were here, he'd love to show you around."

Arthur stood. Merlin looked like he might explode. "I can manage on my own, if you don't mind."

Elaine nodded encouragingly.

Arthur continued, addressing Merlin. "You stay here, _grandfather_." He looked at Elaine. "Long walks aggravate his old bones. He needs to rest."

Arthur stifled a laugh as Merlin's eyes threw daggers at him. He left the lounge, moving across the hall through an open door. The library was much smaller than Merlin's, but as he circled it, reading over titles in the bookshelves, he noted chock-full of books about him or Camelot or Merlin. Well, Merlin had said Elaine's father had amassed a collection on them. He was rather glad the man wasn't here. He'd hate to hear those ridiculous legends gushed about.

One book caught his eye, titled _The Once and Future King_. He pulled it off the shelf, thumbing through it. Most of it seemed silly and nonsensical, but he read a little at the end. Arthur the character was about to go to battle, to fight a war he'd never wanted. He'd tried to change the way of men and failed. Arthur closed the book and shoved it back into its place.

He darted towards the doorway, but stopped when a framed print tacked just inside it commanded his attention, a quote of surrounded by flowery artistry. He read.

"Consequently, when the Pevensie children had returned

to Narnia last time for their second visit,

it was (for the Narnians) as if

King Arthur came back to Britain

as some people say he will.

And I say the sooner the better."

C.S. Lewis

Arthur moved into the hall and fled out the front door.

* * *

Merlin fiddled with the empty tea cup between his long fingers. Too much time had passed. What could Arthur be doing? He rose, excusing himself from the delighted chatter between Marg and Elaine. He stepped quickly into the library and didn't see Arthur. Where had he wandered off to? He sent his sight zooming around the house whose structure was known to him, but his friend was nowhere to be seen. He must have left. Confound it! He shouldn't be running around on his own!

He exited without making any noise. He didn't need their two descendants running after him running after Arthur. He sent his sight out once more as he stalked ahead. He caught Arthur's back as he left the town, headed back onto the forest path towards his estate.

Merlin ran, employing his sight when no one was paying attention. Arthur wasn't going to back to the mansion, but towards the lake. Merlin dropped his sight, ducked around the corner of a house and muttered under his breath. His older form faded and he felt energy surge. He didn't know why, but his younger form always seemed to revitalize him, even though his energy as an older man rarely flagged.

Arthur was fast. He'd almost reached the lake by the time Merlin caught up to him. "Arthur! Arthur, stop!"

His friend kept on, accelerating.

"Clotpole!" Merlin shouted. He finally caught up, his heart about pounding right out of his chest. He stumbled and Arthur clutched at his arm.

"You've been sitting around reading books too much," Arthur chastised.

"Why...why'd...you take off...like that?"

Arthur's teasing expression vanished. "I need to know." He stomped off again, Merlin faltering after him.

"Know what?"

"Why I'm here."

"I've told you―"

"You don't know. I _will_ know."

"Arthur..."

Arthur began running again, Merlin cursing behind him. He reached the shore of the lake and shouted. "I'm here! I'm ready! Tell me! Why have you brought me back?"

Merlin's feet pattered up to him. Arthur dashed to the boat still resting where it had hit the shore after he awoke. He reached down to push it in, but Merlin's hand was on his arm. "Arthur, what are you trying to do?"

Arthur stood up, shrugging away from his grip. "I'm going to find out what I need to do so I can get it over with."

Merlin was taken aback. "Get it over with?"

"Fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it. Okay, yes, it needs me. Fine. Can I just do what it wants so I can be free of it?"

Merlin stared for a second, reading a frustration he recognized oh so well. "I know how you feel."

"You can't know!" Arthur shouted angrily. "You don't have any idea what it is to wake up in a world where you shouldn't even exist and know you have to do _something_ but no one can even tell you what it is!"

Merlin scowled. "I know what it's like to bear destiny on your shoulders. To have everyone depending on you even if they don't know it, and if you make one wrong step it will all be for naught. And then it does go wrong and you end up holding your best friend as he dies and your heart's being ripped out of your chest and you set him on a lake and feel you'll never live again."

Arthur's mouth hung open, words jammed in his throat.

"So I know exactly what it's like to have a destiny...and fail."

"Merlin," Arthur whispered.

Merlin glanced around the shore. "After you died, I stayed here a month hoping you'd come back. You didn't." He cursed as tears shone in his eyes and he wiped at them.

Arthur stepped closer to him. "You didn't fail, though. I've read of the Golden Age you and Gwen and Carwyn made for Camelot."

Merlin grunted. "But you weren't there. You should have been."

Arthur stared into his friend's pained gaze, seeing for the first time how the ages had worn on the warlock, how _his_ absence had affected him. "I was meant to be here now. I had to die."

"Then why didn't anyone tell me I was supposed to fail? Why did they make it seem I could save you? I hate destiny, Arthur. I hated fearing it every day of my life. I hate fearing it now!" He shook, weeping.

Arthur closed the distance, gripping Merlin by the shoulders and pulling him in. The warlock held him tightly, head buried in his neck as he cried.

"It wasn't fair how it happened for you," Arthur tried to comfort. Maybe it wasn't fair for both of them, their lives playthings of fate. For a fleeting moment, Arthur almost suggested they leave, destiny be damned. But then he thought of Marg and Elaine. Could they simply walk away and leave their descendants to whatever circumstances would befall them?

"I can't lose you again." Merlin's breathing staggered.

Arthur gently pushed him away. He'd often mocked Merlin for these emotions, for tears spilled over men. He'd been wrong. Merlin felt more deeply than any man, and he had the right to. It made him the man Arthur admired. "I won't die again."

"That's a promise you don't have any guarantee of keeping."

Arthur sighed. "Maybe not. But this time I _know_ I have the most powerful warlock at my side. I won't be letting you go to waste."

 _Courage_. The feminine voice wavering in the wind startled them both. They looked towards the lake and both sets of eyes widened to behold a woman in shining white lilting several meters offshore.

"Freya," Merlin gasped.

"The Lady," Arthur echoed.

She didn't speak aloud, but she smiled and her voice sent calming waves through their minds. _Your time has come. Your journey will be a long one, but take heart. Cling to those who trust your way. Through them you will accomplish your purpose. Do not give in to fear. As long as you hold to each other, you are never alone._

She turned, drifting away and vanishing into mist. They stared after her for a time, until Merlin met Arthur's eyes once more, his own still misted. "I don't know if I can do this again. It took so much to let it go the first time." To defeat the pain of destiny's burden.

Arthur's jaw firmed. "What is the other choice? To abandon Albion. I could never do that."

Merlin's mouth curled at the corners. "I was afraid of that."

Arthur clapped him on the back and turned him in the direction of the mansion.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Weeping like that."

"That's you, Merlin. You wouldn't be you without a few tears now and then."

Merlin smiled sheepishly at him, but Arthur also sensed a bit of pride in those eyes. He'd come a long way from claiming no man was worth tears. Still, he thought it best to distract his friend from any embarrassment and asked a question that had been at the back of his mind since he'd left Elaine's.

"Who's C.S. Lewis?"

"Lewis?"

"You know him?"

"He's dead now."

"Then, who _was_ he?"

"Author."

"What is Narnia?"

"Narnia? How in the world do you..."

"I saw a quote in Elaine's library."

"Oh. Yes. I forgot it was there." Merlin smiled wistfully to himself.

"You've been there before?"

"I said I knew her father...Though it was a long time ago."

"Narnia?"

Merlin chuckled. "A fantastical world four children find and become kings and queens of."

Arthur halted and stared at Merlin. Well, that was a coincidence. This world was like his own fantasy he'd bumbled into. And he was supposed to lead it?

Merlin smiled as if he read his mind. "I made it into Lewis' work, too. Saved Albion single-handedly."

"Oh really. You and these other kings and queens?"

"It's a different book."

"Tell me about it." Arthur began hiking again.

"It's quite philosophical."

Arthur peered at him out of the side of his eye. "Never mind then."

Merlin guffawed.

"You won't have to do it single-handedly this time," Arthur said quietly as they walked. "It's _our_ destiny, Merlin. _Our_ burden. This time, I know. And I won't let us fail."

Merlin swallowed hard as he looked at him. "Promise?"

"Always."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Originally I planned on this fic being a one-shot, then had more ideas about how Merlin and Arthur would react to seeing each other again and the unresolved issues from the past they'd have to work through. So I turned it into an exploration of them getting reacquainted and decided this fic would be an interim between my story "Second Chance" and whatever story I might write about the purpose for Arthur's return. So this is the last chapter of "Where the Heart Is" but I'll be sure to update if/when I continue the story in another fic. I have so many ideas about Arthur meeting the Sorcerers' Conclave, Merlin's quest to gather the remnants of Albion, Marg and Elaine's deeper part in events, and of course, Aithusa and the new dragon. I plan to tackle the next fic in this series after I finish my AU, "A Boy's Destiny."


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